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The “Mystery” Library 

EDITED BY 

J. WALKER McSPADDEN 


FAMOUS GHOST STORIES 
FAMOUS PSYCHIC STORIES 
FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

In Preparation 

FAMOUS MYSTERY STORIES 

A Library of quite unusual tales 
culled from the most powerful writers, 
chiefly American, English, and French. 
Each book contains special introduction. 


Thomas Y. Crowell Co., New York 





FAMOUS 

DETECTIVE STORIES 


EDITED BY 

J. WALKER McSPADDEN 

Editor of “Famous Ghost Stories” 
Author of “Opera Synopses,” etc. 


NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 








Copyright, 1920 

By THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 


SEP -1 !920 

©Cl, A597254 




3 &Ujrrr*o 


INTRODUCTION 

Originally planned as a companion volume to 
“ Famous Ghost Stories,” which has seemed to strike 
a responsive chord with the reading public — this 
collection of “ Detective Stories ” speedily proved to 
the editor its right to exist on its own account. At 
the same time there is a subtle bond of sympathy 
between ghost and detective tales. Both deal with 
the problem of mystery; both stimulate the imagina¬ 
tion. With the former class, the mystery may never 
be solved; while with the latter, its solution is a ne¬ 
cessary ingredient. 

However, as the work upon the detective tales 
progressed — involving the reading of many times 
the number of stories included within this volume — 
the editor was impressed more and more with the 
richness of this particular vein of literature. And 
he believes that every reader will share the feeling. 
Even those readers who have already been in the 
habit of perusing a good detective yarn to pass away 
the time — and the number of such readers is legion 
— may not have stopped to consider the wealth and 
high quality of literary output falling under this 
general title. Since the time of Edgar Allan Poe, 
who is regarded as the father of the school, the list 
of writers has included some of the ablest masters of 
the short story. 

V 


VI 


INTRODUCTION 


Because Poe was the pioneer, we have begun the 
present series with his famous “ The Purloined Let¬ 
ter,” which may be paraphrased as “ the triumph of 
the obvious.” Poe’s genius in this line was abun¬ 
dantly demonstrated in his “ Murders in the Rue 
Morgue,” and was first recognized by the French, 
more than one of whom frankly imitated him. 
Perhaps the ablest of his disciples in France was 
Gaboriau, whose outstanding character is M. Lecoq. 
The latter’s adventures fill several large volumes, 
which have long since passed through several English 
editions; the most popular being “ File No. 113 ” 
(alluding to the number of a criminal case on the 
police docket). We have been forced by space lim¬ 
itations to quote only one chapter from this book, but 
it is a complete episode in itself, and reveals Lecoq’s 
powers of reasoning and deduction — a method that 
was raised to the nth power by Conan Doyle’s famous 
detective, Sherlock Holmes. It is true that Holmes 
fleers somewhat ungraciously, in one of his adven¬ 
tures, upon the more ponderous Lecoq, but their 
modus operandi is essentially the same. In “ A 
Scandal in Bohemia ” we witness a typical adventure 
of Dr. Watson’s astute friend. 

In his “ New Arabian Nights,” Stevenson turned 
his hand at adventures of involved plot and counter¬ 
plot, although without the guiding genius of a cen¬ 
tral sleuth. One such story touched, as are all, by 
the magic of his inimitable style, is here included. 

Among more recent writers, Sax Rohmer has at¬ 
tracted wide attention in England and America by the 
grotesque and bizarre types he presents. In his 


INTRODUCTION 


vii 


“ Fu-Manchu ” tales, however, his detectives regu¬ 
larly get the worst of it. The same is true of the 
“ Raffles ” stories by E. W. Hornung, where we find 
the amateur cracksman “ putting it all over ” the 
detectives pitted against him. Perchance this was 
a natural revolt on the writers’ part against the cock¬ 
sure methods of our friend Sherlock. 

A still later group of detectives, however, “ pre¬ 
serve the traditions.” We believe they would be 
a match for the audacious Raffles and all his gang. 
Craig Kennedy, the scientist is one; Lawrence Rand, 
another; Arsene Lupin, who is a logical descendant 
of the French school, another; Cleek, still another; 
while the gentler sex is represented very creditably 
by Violet Strange, whose creator, Anna Katherine 
Green, has given us some of the best recent ex¬ 
amples of mystery story in America. 

It has been such a distinct pleasure to gather all 
these celebrated characters together — to watch 
them work in company, so to speak,— that we believe 
the reader will share a responsive thrill. It would 
be a hardened reader, indeed, who does not feel his 
pulses tingle before he follows one of these breathless 
adventures very far. And so without further ado 
— reader, we would present these Famous De¬ 
tectives. Meet the new ones; greet the old ones of 
your acquaintance. All are worth while. 

Finally, a collection such as this has been made 
possible only through the generous cooperation of 
both authors and publishers. Our sincere acknowl¬ 
edgments and thanks are due to Anna Katherine 
Green and Arthur B. Reeve, for personal assistance; 


viii 


INTRODUCTION 


to Robert M. McBride, for permission to use the 
story by Sax Rohmer; to the publishers of the 
Metropolitan Magazine, for the Broughton Bran¬ 
denburg story; to Charles Scribners’ Sons, for the 
Hornung material; to Doubleday, Page & Com¬ 
pany for extracts from the works of Maurice Le 
Blanc and Thomas W. Hanshew; and to Harper and 
Brothers for other kind permissions. 

J. W. McS. 

Montclair , N. J 
May 13, 1920. 


N 


CONTENTS 


The Purloined Letter .... 

Edgar Allan Poe . 

PAGE 

. i 

An Interview with M. Lecoq . 

Emile Gaboriau 

. 29 

A Scandal in Bohemia . . . 

A. Conan Doyle . 

• 57 

The Adventure of the Hansom 
Cabs. 

Robert Louis Stevenson 

• 93 

The Adventure of the Toadstools 

Sax Rohmer 

. 121 

Gentlemen and Players . . . 

E. IV. Hornung . . 

• 139 

The Black Hand . 

Arthur B. Reeve . 

. 167 

The Grotto Spectre .... 

Anna Katherine Green 

. 199 

The Mystery of the Steel Disk 

Broughton Brandenburg 

• 233 

The Sign of the Shadow . . . 

Maurice Le Blanc . 

. 261 

The Mystery of the Steel Room 

Thomas W. Hanshevj . 

. 293 


4 







9 

% 






* 




♦ 





THE PURLOINED LETTER 
By Edgar Allan Poe 

At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the 
autumn of 18 —, I was enjoying the twofold luxury 
of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with 
my friend, C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back 
library, or book-closet, au troisieme, No. 33, Rue 
Dunot, Faubourg Saint Germain. For one hour at 
least we had maintained a profound silence; while 
each, to any casual observer, might have seemed 
intently and exclusively occupied with the curling 
eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of 
the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally 
discussing certain topics which had formed matter 
for conversation between us at an earlier period of 
the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue, 
and the mystery attending the murder of Marie 
Roget. I looked upon it, therefore, as something 
of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment 
was thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance, 
Monsieur G-, the Prefect of the Parisian police. 

We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was 
nearly half as much of the entertaining as of the 
contemptible about the man, and we had not seen 
him for several years. We had been sitting in the 
1 



2 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


dark, and Dupin now arose for the purpose of light¬ 
ing a lamp, but sat down again without doing so, 

upon G-’s saying that he had called to consult 

us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, about 
some official business which had occasioned a great 
deal of trouble. 

“ If it is any point requiring reflection,” observed 
Dupin, as he forbore to enkindle the wick, “ we 
shall examine it to better purpose in the dark.” 

“ This is another of your odd notions,” said the 
Prefect, who had a fashion of calling everything 
“ odd ” that was beyond his comprehension, and thus 
lived amid an absolute legion of “ oddities.” 

“ Very true,” said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor 
with a pipe, and rolled towards him a comfortable 
chair. 

“And what is the difficulty now?” I asked. 
“ Nothing more in the assassination way, I hope? ” 

“ Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the 
business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt 
that we can manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but 
then I thought Dupin would like to hear the details 
of it, because it is so excessively odd.” 

“ Simple and odd,” said Dupin. 

“Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The 
fact is, we have all been a good deal puzzled because 
the affair is so simple, and yet baffles us altogether.” 

“ Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing 
which puts you at fault,” said my friend. 

“What nonsense you do talk! ” replied the Pre¬ 
fect, laughing heartily. 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 


3 


“ Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain,” said 
Dupin. 

“ Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an 
idea?” 

“ A little too self-evident.” 

“Ha! ha! ha! — ha! ha! ha! — ho! ho! ho!” 
roared our visitor, profoundly amused, “ O Dupin, 
you will be the death of me yet! ” 

“ And what, after all, is the matter on hand? ” I 
asked. 

“ Why, I will tell you,” replied the Prefect, as he 
gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff, and 
settled himself in his chair. “ I will tell you in a 
few words; but, before I begin, let me caution you 
that this is an affair demanding the greatest secrecy, 
and that I should most probably lose the position I 
now hold, were it known that I had confided it to 
any one.” 

“ Proceed,” said I. 

“ Or not,” said Dupin. 

“Well, then; I have received personal informa¬ 
tion, from a very high quarter, that a certain docu¬ 
ment of the last importance has been purloined from 
the royal apartments. The individual who pur¬ 
loined it is known; this beyond a doubt; he was seen 
to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains in 
his possession.” 

“ How is this known? ” asked Dupin. 

“ It is clearly inferred,” replied the Prefect, 
“ from the nature of the document, and from the 
non-appearance of certain results which would at 


4 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


once arise from its passing out of the robber’s posses¬ 
sion;— that is to say, from his employing it as he 
must design in the end to employ it.” 

“ Be a little more explicit,” I said. 

“ Well, I may venture so far as to say that the 
paper gives its holder a certain power in a certain 
quarter where such power is immensely valuable.” 
The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy. 

“ Still I do not quite understand,” said Dupin. 

“ No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a 
third person, who shall be nameless, would bring in 
question the honor of a personage of most exalted 
station; and this fact gives the holders of the docu¬ 
ment an ascendancy over the illustrious personage 
whose honor and peace are so jeopardized.” 

“ But this ascendancy,” I interposed, “ would de¬ 
pend upon the robber’s knowledge of the loser’s 
knowledge of the robber. Who would dare-” 

“ The thief,” said G-, “ is the minister 

D-, who dares all things, those unbecoming as 

well as those becoming a man. The method of the 
theft was not less ingenious than bold. The docu¬ 
ment in question — a letter, to be frank — had been 
received by the personage robbed while alone in the 
royal boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly 
interrupted by the entrance of the other exalted per¬ 
sonage, from whom especially it was her wish to con¬ 
ceal it. After a hurried and vain endeavor to thrust 
it into a drawer, she was forced to place it, open as it 
was, upon a table. The address, however, was up¬ 
permost, and, the contents thus unexposed, the letter 





THE PURLOINED LETTER 


5 


escaped notice. At this juncture enter the minister 

D-. His lynx eye immediately perceives the 

paper, recognizes the handwriting of the address, 
observes the confusion of the personage addressed, 
and fathoms her secret. After some business trans¬ 
actions, hurried through in his ordinary manner, he 
produces a letter somewhat similar to the one in 
question, opens it, pretends to read it, and then 
places it in close juxtaposition to the other. Again 
he converses for some fifteen minutes upon the pub¬ 
lic affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes also 
from the table the letter to which he had no claim. 
Its rightful owner saw, but, of course, dared not call 
attention to the act, in the presence of the third per¬ 
sonage, who stood at her elbow. The minister de¬ 
camped, leaving his own letter — one of no impor¬ 
tance — upon the table.” 

“ Here, then,” said Dupin to me, “ you have pre¬ 
cisely what you demand to make the ascendancy 
complete — the robber’s knowledge of the loser’s 
knowledge of the robber.” 

“ Yes,” replied the Prefect; “ and the power thus 
attained has for some months past been wielded, 
for political purposes, to a very dangerous extent. 
The personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced 
every day of the necessity of reclaiming her letter. 
But this, of course, cannot be done openly. In fine, 
driven to despair, she has committed the matter to 
me.” 

“ Than whom,” said Dupin, amid a perfect 
whirlwind of smoke, “ no more sagacious agent 



6 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


could, I suppose, be desired, or even imagined.” 

“ You flatter me,” replied the Prefect; “ but it is 
possible that some such opinion may have been en¬ 
tertained.” 

“ It is clear,” said I, “ as you observe, that the 
letter is still in possession of the minister; since it is 
this possession, and not any employment of the let¬ 
ter, which bestows the power. With the employ¬ 
ment the power departs.” 

“True,” said G-; “ and upon this conviction 

I proceeded. My first care was to make thorough 
search of the minister’s hotel; and here my chief 
embarrassment lay in the necessity of searching 
without his knowledge. Beyond all things, I have 
been warned of the danger which would result from 
giving him reason to suspect our design.” 

“ But,” said I, “ you are quite au fait in these in¬ 
vestigations. The Parisian police have done this 
thing often before.” 

“ Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. 
The habits of the minister gave me, too, a great 
advantage. He is frequently absent from home all 
night. His servants are by no means numerous. 
They sleep at a distance from their master’s apart¬ 
ment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are readily 
made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which 
I can open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For 
three months a night has not passed, during the 
greater part of which I have not been engaged, per¬ 
sonally, in ransacking the D- Hotel. My 

honor is interested, and, to mention a great secret 




THE PURLOINED LETTER 


7 


the reward is enormous. So I did not abandon the 
search until I had become fully satisfied that the 
thief is a more astute man than myself. I fancy 
that I have investigated every nook and corner of 
the premises in which it is possible that the paper 
can be concealed.” 

“ But is it not possible,” I suggested, “ that al¬ 
though the letter may be in possession of the minis¬ 
ter, as it unquestionably is, he may have concealed 
it elsewhere than upon his own premises? ” 

“ This is barely possible,” said Dupin. “ The 
present peculiar condition of affairs at court, and 

especially of those intrigues in which D- is 

known to be involved, would render the instant 
availability of the document — its susceptibility of 
being produced at a moment’s notice — a point of 
nearly equal importance with its possession.” 

“ Its susceptibility of being produced? ” said I. 

“ That is to say, of being destroyed said Dupin. 

“True,” I observed; “the paper is clearly then 
upon the premises. As for its being upon the person 
of the minister, we may consider that as out of the 
question.” 

“ Entirely,” said the Prefect. “ He has been 
twice waylaid, as if by footpads, and his person 
rigorously searched under my own inspection.” 

“ You might have spared yourself the trouble,” 

said Dupin. “ D-, I presume, is not altogether 

a fool, and, if not, must have anticipated these way- 
layings, as a matter of course.” 

“ Not altogether a fool,” said G 


; “ but then 





8 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


he’s a poet, which I take to be only one remove from 
a fool.” 

“ True,” said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful 
whiff from his meerschaum, “ although I have been 
guilty of certain doggerel myself.” 

“ Suppose you detail,” said I, “ the particulars of 
your search.” 

u Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we 
searched everywhere. I have had long experience 
in these affairs. I took the entire building, room by 
room, devoting the nights of a whole week to each. 
We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment. 
We opened every possible drawer; and I presume 
you know that, to a properly trained police agent, 
such a thing as a secret drawer is impossible. Any 
man is a dolt who permits a 4 secret ’ drawer to 
escape him in a search of this kind. The thing is 
so plain. There is a certain amount of bulk — 
of space — to be accounted for in every cabinet. 
Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth part of 
a line could not escape us. After the cabinets we 
took the chairs. The cushions we probed with the 
fine long needles you have seen me employ. From 
the tables we removed the tops.” 

“ Why so?” 

“ Sometimes the top of a table or other similarly 
arranged piece of furniture is removed by the person 
wishing to conceal an article; then the leg is exca¬ 
vated, the article deposited within the cavity, and the 
top replaced. The bottoms and tops of bed-posts 
are employed in the same way.” 


THE PURLOINED LETTER 


9 


“ But could not the cavity be detected by sound¬ 
ing? ” I asked. 

“ By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a 
sufficient wadding of cotton be placed around it. 
Besides, in our case we were obliged to proceed 
without noise.” 

“ But you could not have removed — you could 
not have taken to pieces all articles of furniture in 
which it would have been possible to make a deposit 
in the manner you mention. A letter may be com¬ 
pressed into a thin spiral roll, not differing much in 
shape or bulk from a large knitting-needle, and in 
this form it might be inserted into the rung of a 
chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all 
the chairs? ” 

“ Certainly not; but we did better — we examined 
the rungs of every chair in the hotel, and indeed, the 
jointings of every description of furniture, by the 
aid of a most powerful microscope. Had there been 
any traces of recent disturbance we should not have 
failed to detect it instantly. A single grain of gim¬ 
let-dust, for example, would have been as obvious as 
an apple. Any disorder in the gluing, any unusual 
gaping in the joints, would have sufficed to insure 
detection.” 

“ I presume you looked to the mirrors, between 
the boards and the plates, and you probed the beds 
and the bed-clothes, as well as the curtains and car¬ 
pets.” 

“That, of course; and when we had absolutely 
completed every article of furniture in this way, then 


10 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


we examined the house itself. We divined its entire 
surface into compartments, which we numbered, so 
that none might be missed; then we scrutinized each 
individual square inch throughout the premises, in¬ 
cluding the two houses immediately adjoining, with 
the microscope, as before.” 

“ The two houses adjoining! ” I exclaimed; “ you 
must have had a great deal of trouble.” 

“ We had; but the reward offered is prodigious.” 
“ You include the grounds about the houses? ” 

“ All the grounds are paved with brick. They 
gave us comparatively little trouble. We examined 
the moss between the bricks, and found it undis¬ 
turbed.” 

“ You looked among D-’s papers, of course, 

and into the books of the library? ” 

“ Certainly, we opened every package and parcel ;" 
we not only opened every book, but we turned over 
every leaf in each volume, not contenting ourselves 
with a mere shake, according to the fashion of some 
of our police officers. We also measured the thick¬ 
ness of every book -cover, with the most accurate 
admeasurement, and applied to each the most jealous 
scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bind¬ 
ings been recently meddled with, it would have been 
utterly impossible that the fact should have escaped 
observation. Some five or six volumes, just from 
the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longi¬ 
tudinally, with *the needles.” 

u You explored the floors beneath the carpets? ” 
“ Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and 
examined the boards with the microscope.” 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 


11 


“ And the paper on the walls? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You looked into the cellars?” 

41 We did.” 

“ Then,” I said, “ you have been making a miscal¬ 
culation, and the letter is not upon the premises, as 
you suppose.” 

“ I fear you are right there,” said the Prefect. 
“ And now, Dupin, what would you advise me to 
do?” 

“ To make a thorough re-search of*the premises.” 

“ That is absolutely needless,” replied G-. 

“ I am not more sure that I breathe than I am that 
the letter is not at the hotel.” 

“ I have no better advice to give you,” said Dupin. 
“ You have, of course, an accurate description of this 
letter?” 

“ Oh, yes.” And here the Prefect, producing a 
memorandum-book, proceeded to read aloud a mi¬ 
nute account of the internal, and especially of the 
external appearance of the missing document. Soon 
after finishing the perusal of this description, he took 
his departure, more entirely depressed in spirits than 
I had ever known the good gentleman before. 

In about a month afterward he paid us another 
visit, and found us occupied very nearly as before. 
He took a pipe and a chair, and entered into some 
ordinary conversation. At length I said: — 

“ Well, but G-, what of the purloined letter? 

I presume you have at last made up your mind that 




12 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

there is no such thing as overreaching the minister? ” 

“Confound him, say I — yes; I made the re¬ 
examination, however, as Dupin suggested; but it 
was all labor lost, as I knew it would be.” 

“ How much was the reward offered, did you 
say? ” asked Dupin. 

“ Why, a very great deal — a very liberal reward 
— I don’t like to say how much precisely; but one 
thing I will say, that I wouldn’t mind giving my in¬ 
dividual check for fifty thousand francs to any one 
who obtains me that letter. The fact is, it is becom¬ 
ing of more and more importance every day; and 
the reward has been lately doubled. If it were 
trebled, however, I could do no more than I have 
done.” 

“ Why, yes,” said Dupin drawlingly, between the 

whiffs of his meerschaum, “ I really — think, G-, 

you have not exerted yourself — to the utmost in this 
matter. You might do a little more, I think, eh? ” 

“ How? in what way? ” 

“ Why, [puff, puff] you might [puff, puff] employ 
counsel in the matter, eh? [puff, puff, puff]. Do 
you remember the story they tell of Abernethy? ” 

“ No; hang Abernethy! ” 

“ To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once 
upon a time, a certain rich miser conceived the de¬ 
sign of sponging upon this Abernethy for a medical 
opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary 
conversation in a private company, he insinuated his 
case to the physician, as that of an imaginary indi¬ 
vidual. 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 


13 


We will suppose/ said the miser, ‘ that his 
symptoms are such and such; now, doctor, what 
would you have directed him to take? ’ 

Take! ’ said Abernethy, 4 why, take advice, to 
be sure.’ ” 

“ But,” said the Prefect, a little discomposed, 44 1 
am perfectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it. 
I would really give fifty thousand francs to any one 
who would aid me in the matter.” 

44 In that case,” replied Dupin, opening a drawer, 
and producing a check-book, 44 you may as well fill 
me up a check for the amount mentioned. When 
you have signed it, I will hand you the letter.” 

I was astounded. The Prefect appeared abso¬ 
lutely thunderstricken. For some minutes he re¬ 
mained speechless and motionless, looking incredu¬ 
lously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that 
seemed starting from their sockets; then, apparently 
recovering himself in some measure, he seized a pen, 
and, after several pauses and vacant stares, finally 
filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs, 
and handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter 
examined it carefully, and deposited it in his pocket- 
book; then, unlocking an escritoire, took thence a 
letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary 
grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a 
trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents, 
and then, scrambling and struggling to the door, 
rushed at length unceremoniously from the room 
and from the house, without having offered a syllable 
since Dupin had requested him to fill up the check. 


14 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

When he had gone, my friend entered into some 
explanations. 

“ The Parisian police,” he said, “ are exceedingly 
able in their way. They are persevering, ingenious, 
cunning, and thoroughly versed in the knowledge 
which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, 

when G-detailed to us his mode of searching the 

premises of the Hotel D-, I felt entire confidence 

in his having made a satisfactory investigation — so 
far as his labors extended.” 

“ So far as his labors extended? ” said I. 

“Yes,” said Dupin. “The measures adopted 
were not only the best of their kind, but carried out 
to absolute perfection. Had the letter been de¬ 
posited within the range of their search, these fellows 
would, beyond a question, have found it.” 

I merely laughed, but he seemed quite serious in 
all that he said. 

“ The measures, then,” he continued, “ were good 
in their kind, and well executed; their defect lay in 
their being inapplicable to the case and to the man. 
A certain set of highly ingenious resources are, with 
the Prefect, a sort of Procrustean bed, to which he 
forcibly adapts his designs. But he perpetually errs 
in being too deep or too shallow, for the matter in 
hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner 
than he. I knew one about eight years of age, 
whose success at guessing in the game of 4 even and 
odd ’ attracted universal admiration. This game is 
simple, and is played with marbles. One player 
holds in his hand a number of these toys, and de- 




THE PURLOINED LETTER 


15 


mands of another whether that number is even or 
odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if 
wrong, he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won 
all the marbles of the school. Of course he had 
some principles of guessing; and this lay in mere 
observation and admeasurement of the astuteness of 
his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is 
his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand asks, 
‘Are they even or odd?’ Our schoolboy replies, 
‘ Odd,’ and loses; but upon the second trial he wins, 
for he then says to himself, ‘ The simpleton had 
them even upon the first trial, and his amount of 
cunning is just sufficient to make him have them 
odd upon the second; I will therefore guess odd;’ 
he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton 
a degree above the first he would have reasoned thus: 
4 This fellow finds that in the first instance I guessed 
odd, and in the second he will propose to himself, 
upon the first impulse, a simple variation from even 
to odd, as did the first simpleton; but then a second 
thought will suggest that this is too simple a varia¬ 
tion, and finally he will decide upon putting it even 
as before. I will therefore guess even; ’ he guesses 
even, and wins. Now, this mode of reasoning in the 
schoolboy, whom his fellows term 4 lucky,’ what, in 
its last analysis, is it? ” 

44 It is merely,” I said, 44 an identification of the 
reasoner’s intellect with that of his opponent.” 

44 It is,” said Dupin; 44 and, upon inquiring of the 
boy by what means he effected the thorough identi¬ 
fication in which his success consisted, I received 


16 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

answer as follows: ‘ When I wish to find out how 
wise, or how stupid, or how good, or how wicked 
is any one, or what are his thoughts at the moment, 
I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as 
possible, in accordance with the expression of his, 
and then wait to see what thoughts or sentiments 
arise in my mind or heart, as if to match or corre¬ 
spond with the expression.’ This response of the 
schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the spurious pro¬ 
fundity which has been attributed to Rochefoucauld, 
to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella.” 

“ And the identification,” I said, “ of the rea- 
soner’s intellect with that of his opponent depends, 
if I understand you aright, upon the accuracy with 
which the opponent’s intellect is admeasured.” 

“ For its practical value it depends upon this,” 
replied Dupin; “ and the Prefect and his cohort fail 
so frequently, first, by default of this identification, 
and secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather 
through non-admeasurement, of the intellect with 
which they are engaged. They consider only their 
own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching for any¬ 
thing hidden, advert only to the modes in which they 
would have hidden it. They are right in this much 
— that their own ihgenuity is a faithful representa¬ 
tive of that of the mass; but when the cunning of the 
individual felon is diverse in character from their 
own, the felon foils them, of course. This always 
happens when it is above their own, and very usually 
when it is below. They have no variation of princi¬ 
ple in their investigations; at best, when urged by 


THE PURLOINED LETTER 


17 


some unusual emergency — by some extraordinary 
reward — they extend or exaggerate their old modes 
of practice, without touching their principles. 

What, for example, in this case of D-, has been 

done to vary the principle of action? What is all 
this boring, and probing, and sounding, and scruti¬ 
nizing with the microscope, and dividing the surface 
of the building into registered square inches — what 
is it all but an exaggeration of the application of the 
one principle or set of principles of search, which are 
based upon the one set of notions regarding human 
ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routine 
of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see 
he has taken it for granted that all men proceed to 
conceal a letter — not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored 
in a chair-leg — but, at least, in some out-of-the-way 
hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of 
thought which would urge a man to secrete a letter in 
a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg. And do you 
not see also, that such recherche nooks for conceal¬ 
ment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and 
would be adopted only by ordinary intellects? — for, 
in all cases of concealment, a disposal of the article 
concealed — a disposal of it in this recherche man¬ 
ner, is, in the very first instance, presumable and 
presumed; and thus its discovery depends, not at all 
upon the acumen, but altogether upon the mere care, 
patience, and determination of the seekers; and 
where the case is of importance — or, what amounts 
to the same thing in the political eyes, when the 
reward is of magnitude — the qualities in question 



18 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


have never been known to fail. You will now under¬ 
stand what I meant in suggesting that, had the pur¬ 
loined letter been hidden anywhere within the limits 
of the Prefect’s examination — in other words, had 
the principle of its concealment been comprehended 
within the principles of the Prefect — its discovery 
would have been a matter altogether beyond ques¬ 
tion. This functionary, however, has been thor¬ 
oughly mystified; and the remote source of his defeat 
lies in the supposition that the minister is a fool, 
because he has acquired renown as a poet. All 
fools are poets; this the Prefect feels; and he is 
merely guilty of a non distributio medii in thence 
inferring that all poets are fools.” 

“ But is this really the poet? ” I asked. “ There 
are two brothers, I know; and both have attained 
reputation in letters. The minister, I believe, has 
written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He 
is a mathematician, and no poet.” 

“ You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. 
As poet and mathematician he would reason well; 
as mere mathematician he could not have reasoned 
at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of the 
Prefect.” 

“You surprise me,” I said, “by these opinions, 
which have been contradicted by the voice of the 
world. You do not mean to set at naught the well- 
digested idea of centuries. The mathematical rea¬ 
son has long been regarded as the reason par ex¬ 
cellence” 

“ ‘ II y a a parierf ” replied Dupin, quoting from 


THE PURLOINED LETTER 


19 


Chamfort, " * que toute idee publique, toute conven¬ 
tion reque, est une sottise, car elle a convenue au 
plus grand nombre / The mathematicians, I grant 
you, have done their best to promulgate the popular 
error to which you allude, and which is none the less 
an error for its promulgation as truth. With an art 
worthy a better cause, for example, they have insinu¬ 
ated the term ‘ analysis ’ into application to algebra. 
The French are the originators of this practical de¬ 
ception; but if the term is of any importance — if 
words derive any value from applicability — then 
‘ analysis 9 conveys, in algebra, about as much as, 
in Latin, ' ambitus * implies ‘ ambition,’ 1 religio’ 
‘ religion,’ or ' homines honesti,’ a set of honorable 
men.” 

“You have a quarrel on hand, I see,” said I, 
“with some of the algebraists of Paris; but pro¬ 
ceed.” 

“ I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of 
that reason which is cultivated in any special form 
other than the abstractly logical. I dispute, in par¬ 
ticular, the reason educed by mathematical study. 
The mathematics are the science of form and quan¬ 
tity; mathematical reasoning is merely logic applied 
to observation upon form and quantity. The great 
error lies in supposing that even the truths of what 
is called pure algebra are abstract or general truths. 
And this error is so egregious that I am confounded 
at the universality with which it has been received. 
Mathematical axioms are not axioms of general 
truth. What is true of relation, of form and quan- 


20 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


tity, is often grossly false in regard to morals, for 
example. In this latter science it is very unusually 
untrue that the aggregated parts are equal to the 
whole. In chemistry, also, the axiom fails. In the 
consideration of motive it fails; for two motives, 
each of a given value, have not, necessarily, a value, 
when united, equal to the sum of their values apart. 
There are numerous other mathematical truths which 
are only truths within the limits of relation. But 
the mathematician argues, from his finite truths, 
through habit, as if they were of an absolutely 
general applicability— as the world indeed imagines 
them to be. Bryant, in his very learned ‘ Myth¬ 
ology,’ mentions an analogous source of error, when 
he says that ‘ although the Pagan fables are not be¬ 
lieved, yet we forget ourselves continually, and make 
inferences from them as existing realities.’ With 
the algebraists, however, who are Pagans them¬ 
selves, the ‘Pagan fables’ are believed; and the 
inferences are made, not so much through lapse of 
memory, as through an unaccountable addling of the 
brains. In short, I never yet encountered the mere 
mathematician who could be trusted out of equal 
roots, or one who did not clandestinely hold it as a 
point of his faith that + px was absolutely and 
unconditionally equal to q. Say to one of these 
gentlemen, by way of experiment if you please, that 
you believe occasions may occur where x 2 + px is 
not altogether equal to q, and, having made him 
understand what you mean, get out of his reach as 
speedily as convenient, for, beyond doubt, he will 
endeavor to knock you down. 


THE PURLOINED LETTER 


21 


“ I mean to say,” continued Dupin, while I merely 
laughed at his last observations, “ that if the minis¬ 
ter had been no more than a mathematician, the 
Prefect would have been under no necessity of giv¬ 
ing me this check. I knew him, however, as both 
mathematician and poet; and my measures were 
adapted to his capacity, with reference to the cir¬ 
cumstances by which he was surrounded. I know 
him as courtier, too, and as a bold intrigant. Such 
a man, I consider, could not fail to be aware of the 
ordinary political modes of action. He could not 
have failed to anticipate — and events have proved 
that he did not fail to anticipate — the waylayings to 
which he was subjected. He must have foreseen, I 
reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. 
His frequent absences from home at night, which 
were hailed by the Prefect as certain aids to his suc¬ 
cess, I regarded only as ruses, to afford opportunity 
for thorough search to the police, and thus the 
sooner to impress them with the conviction to which 

G-, in fact, did finally arrive — the conviction 

that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt, 
also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at 
some pains in detailing to you just now, concerning 
the invariable principle of political action in searches 
for articles concealed, I felt that this whole train of 
thought would necessarily pass through the mind 
of the minister. It would imperatively lead him to 
despise all the ordinary nooks of concealment. He 
could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see that 
the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel 



22 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


would be as open as his commonest closets to the 
eyes, to the probes, to the gimlets, and to the micro¬ 
scopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would 
be driven, as a matter of course, to simplicity, if not 
deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. 
You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the 
Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon our first in¬ 
terview, that it was just possible this mystery 
troubled him so much on account of his being so very 
self-evident.’’ 

“ Yes,” said I, “ I remember his merriment well. 
I really thought he would have fallen into convul¬ 
sions.” 

“ The material world,” continued Dupin, 
“ abounds with very strict analogies to the immate¬ 
rial; and thus some color of truth has been given 
to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, or simile, 
may be made to strengthen an argument, as well as 
to embellish a description. The principle of the vis 
inertia, for example, seems to be identical in physics 
and metaphysics. It is not more true in the former, 
that a large body is with more difficulty set in motion 
than a smaller one, and that its subsequent momen¬ 
tum is commensurate with this difficulty, than it is 
in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, 
while more forcible, more constant, and more event¬ 
ful in their movements than those of inferior grade, 
are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed 
and full of hesitation in the first few steps of their 
progress. Again; have you ever noticed which of 
the street signs over the shop doors are the most 
attractive of attention? ” 


THE PURLOINED LETTER 


23 


“ I have never given the matter a thought,” I 
said. 

“ There is a game of puzzles,” he resumed, 
“ which is played upon a map. One party playing 
requires another to find a given word — the name of 
town, river, state, or empire — any word, in short, 
upon the motley and perplexed surface of the chart. 
A novice in the game generally seeks to embarrass 
his opponents by giving them the most minutely 
lettered names; but the adept selects such words as 
stretch, in large characters, from one end of the chart 
to the other. These, like the over-largely lettered 
signs and placards of the street, escape observation 
by dint of being excessively obvious; and here the 
physical oversight is precisely analogous with the 
moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffers 
to pass unnoticed those considerations which are too 
obtrusely and too palpably self-evident. But this 
is a point, it appears, somewhat above or beneath 
the understanding of the Prefect. He never once 
thought it probable, or possible, that the minister 
had deposited the letter immediately beneath the 
nose of the whole world, by way of best preventing 
any portion of that world from perceiving it. 

“ But the more I reflected upon the daring, dash¬ 
ing, and discriminating ingenuity of D-; upon 

the fact that the document must always have been at 
hand, if he intended to use it to good purpose; and 
upon the decisive evidence, obtained by the Prefect, 
that it was not hidden within the limits of that 
dignitary’s ordinary search — the more satisfied I 



24 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


became that, to conceal this letter, the minister had 
resorted to the comprehensive and sagacious ex¬ 
pedient of not attempting to conceal it at all. 

“ Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair 
of green spectacles, and called one fine morning, 
quite by accident, at the ministerial hotel. I found 

D- at home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling, 

as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity 
of ennui. He is, perhaps, the most really energetic 
human being now alive — but that is only when 
nobody sees him. 

“ To be even with him, I complained of my weak 
eyes, and lamented the necessity of the spectacles, 
under cover of which I cautiously and thoroughly 
surveyed the whole apartment, while seemingly in¬ 
tent only upon the conversation of my host. 

“ I paid especial attention to a large writing-table 
near which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly 
some miscellaneous letters and other papers, with 
one or two musical instruments and a few books. 
Here, however, after a long and very deliberate 
scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite particular suspicion. 

“ At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the 
room, fell upon a trumpery filigree card-rack of 
pasteboard, that hung dangling by a dirty blue rib¬ 
bon, from a little brass knob just beneath the middle 
of the mantel-piece. In this rack, which had three 
or four compartments, were five or six visiting cards 
and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and 
crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the 
middle — as if a design, in the first instance, to tear 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 


25 


it entirely up as worthless, had been altered, or 
stayed, in the second. It had a large black seal, 

bearing the D- cipher very conspicuously, and 

was addressed, in a diminutive female hand, to 
D-, the minister himself. It was thrust care¬ 

lessly, and even, as it seemed, contemptuously, into 
one of the uppermost divisions of the rack. 

“ No sooner had I glanced at this letter, than I 
concluded it to be that of which I was in search. To 
be sure, it was, to all appearance, radically different 
from the one of which the Prefect had read us so 
minute a description. Here the seal was large and 

black, with the D- cipher; there it was small 

and red, with the ducal arms of the S- family. 

Here the address, to the minister, was diminutive 
and feminine; there the superscription, to a certain 
royal personage, was markedly bold and decided; 
the size alone formed a point of correspondence. 
But, then, the radicalness of these differences, which 
was excessive; the dirt, the soiled and torn condi¬ 
tion of the paper, so inconsistent with the true 

methodical habits of D-, and so suggestive of a 

design to delude the beholder into an idea of the 
worthlessness of the document; these things, to¬ 
gether with the hyper-obtrusive situation of this 
document, full in the view of every visitor, and thus 
exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which 
I had previously arrived — these things, I say, were 
strongly corroborative of suspicion, in one who came 
with the intention to suspect. 

“ I protracted my visit as long as possible; and 







26 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


while I maintained a most animated discussion with 
the minister, upon a topic which I knew well had 
never failed to interest and excite him, I kept my 
attention really riveted upon the letter. In this 
examination, I committed to memory its external 
appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also 
fell, at length, upon a discovery which set at rest 
whatever trivial doubt I might have entertained. In 
scrutinizing the edges of the paper, I observed them 
to be more chafed than seemed necessary. They 
presented the broken appearance which is manifested 
when a stiff paper, having been once folded and 
pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed direc¬ 
tion, in the same creases or edges which had formed 
the original fold. This discovery was sufficient. It 
was clear to me that the letter had been turned, as a 
glove, inside out, re-directed, and re-sealed. I bade 
the minister good morning, and took my departure 
at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table. 

“ The next morning I called for the snuff-box, 
when we resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of 
the preceding day. While thus engaged, however, 
a loud report, as if of a pistol, was heard immedi¬ 
ately beneath the windows of the hotel, and was 
succeeded by a series of fearful screams, and the 

shoutings of a terrified mob. D- rushed to a 

casement, threw it open, and looked out. In the 
meantime, I stepped to the card-rack, took the letter, 
put it in my pocket, and replaced it by a facsimile 
(so far as regards externals) which I had carefully 
prepared at my lodgings — imitating the D- 




THE PURLOINED LETTER 27 

cipher very readily by means of a seal formed of 
bread. 

“ The disturbance in the street had been occa¬ 
sioned by the frantic behavior of a man with a 
musket. He had fired it among a crowd of women 
and children. It proved, however, to have been 
without ball, and the fellow was suffered to go his 
way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When he had gone, 
D- came from the window, whither I had fol¬ 

lowed him immediately upon securing the object in 
view. Soon afterward I bade him farewell. The 
pretended lunatic was a man in my own pay.” 

“ But what purpose had you,” I asked, “ in replac¬ 
ing the letter by a facsimilef Would it not have 
been better, at the first visit, to have seized it openly, 
and departed? ” 

“ D-,” replied Dupin, “ is a desperate man, 

and a man of nerve. His hotel, too, is not without 
attendants devoted to his interest. Had I made the 
wild attempt you suggest, I might never have left 
the ministerial presence alive. The good people of 
Paris might have heard of me no more. But I had 
an object apart from these considerations. You 
knew my political prepossessions. In this matter 
I act as a partisan of the lady concerned. For 
eighteen months the minister has had her in his 
power. She has now him in hers — since, being 
unaware that the letter is not in his possession, he 
will proceed with his exactions as if it were. Thus 
will he inevitably commit himself, at once, to his 
political destruction. His downfall, too, will not 




28 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


be more precipitate than awkward. It is all very 
well to talk about the facilis descensus Averni; but in 
all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, it 
is far more easy to get up than to come down. In 
the present instance I have no sympathy — at least 
no pity — for him who descends. He is that mon- 
strum horrendum, an unprincipled man of genius. 
I confess, however, that I should like very well to 
know the precise character of his thoughts, when, 
being defied by her whom the Prefect terms 4 a cer¬ 
tain personage,’ he is reduced to opening the letter 
which I left for him in the card-rack.” 

“ How? Did you put anything particular in it? ” 

“ Why, it did not seem altogether right to leave 
the interior blank — that would have been insulting. 

D-, at Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which 

I told him, quite good-humoredly, that I should 
remember. So, as I knew he would feel some curi¬ 
osity in regard to the identity of the person who had 
outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him 
a clew. He is well acquainted with my MS.; and I 
just copied into the middle of the blank sheet the 
words — 


“* - Un dessein si funeste, 

tfil nest digne d'A tree, est digne de Thyeste* 


They are to be found in Crebillon’s Atree. ,} 



AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 
By Emile Gaboriau 

In the Paris journals of February 28, 186-, there 
appeared the following intelligence: 

“ A daring robbery, committed during the night 
at one of our principal banker’s, M. Andre Fauvel, 
has created great excitement this morning in the 
neighborhood of the Rue de Provence. The thieves, 
who were as skillful as they were daring, succeeded 
in effecting an entrance to the bank, in forcing the 
lock of a safe that has heretofore been considered 
impregnable, and in possessing themselves of bank¬ 
notes, of the value of three hundred and fifty thou¬ 
sand francs. The police, immediately informed of 
the robbery, displayed their accustomed zeal, and 
their efforts have been crowned with success. Al¬ 
ready, it is said, P. B., a clerk in the bank, has been 
arrested, and there is every reason to hope that his 
accomplices will be speedily overtaken by the hand 
of justice.” 

For four days this robbery was the talk of Paris. 
Then public attention was engrossed by later and 
equally interesting events; an acrobat broke his leg 
at the circus; an actress made her debut at a minor 
theater; and news of the 28th was soon forgotten. 

From “ File No. 113.” 


39 


30 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


But for once the newspapers were — perhaps 
designedly — wrong, or at least inaccurate in their 
information. The sum of three hundred and fifty 
thousand francs had certainly been stolen from M. 
Andre Fauvel’s bank, but not in the manner described. 
A clerk had also been arrested on suspicion, but no 
conclusive proof had been forthcoming against him. 
This robbery of unusual importance remained, if 
not inexplicable, at least unexplained. 

The police discovered that the safe was habit¬ 
ually opened by a curious little key, which was, 
however, the least important of the mechanism. 
Five movable steel buttons, upon which were en¬ 
graved all the letters of the alphabet, constituted 
the real power of the ingenious lock. To open the 
safe it was requisite, before inserting the key, to re¬ 
place the letters on the buttons in the same order in 
which they were when the door was locked. In M. 
Fauvel’s bank, as elsewhere, it was always closed 
with a word that was changed from time to time. 
This word was known only to the head of the bank 
and the chief cashier, each of whom had a key to 
the safe. In such a stronghold, a person might 
deposit more diamonds that the Duke of Bruns¬ 
wick possessed, and sleep well assured, as he would 
be, of their safety. But one danger seemed to 
threaten — that of forgetting the secret word which 
was the “ Open, sesame ” of the iron barrier. 

•Naturally, suspicion was divided between Prosper 
Bertomy, the chief clerk, and Fauvel, the owner of 
the bank. But the farther the detective force pro- 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 31 

ceeded with the case, the more complicated it be¬ 
came. The detective to whom it was originally as¬ 
signed, Fanferlot, or “ The Squirrel,” worked day 
and night to solve it. He burned to distinguish 
himself by it, and thus prove to his own satisfaction, 
if not to the entire force, that he was as good a 
man as their chief, the famous M. Lecoq. As a 
preliminary, Fanferlot induced Madame Gipsy, 
Bertomy’s sweetheart, to flee from justice. He ob¬ 
tained lodgings for her at a hotel run by Madame 
Alexandre. 

The hotel of the Grand Archangel, Madame 
Gipsy’s asylum, was the most elegant one on the 
Quai St. Michel. At this hotel a person who pays 
her fortnight’s board in advance is treated with 
marked consideration. 

Madame Alexandre, who had been a handsome 
woman, was now stout, laced till she could scarcely 
breathe, always over-dressed, and fond of wearing 
a number of flashy gold chains around her fat neck. 
She had bright eyes and white teeth; but, alas, a red 
nose. Of all her weaknesses — and heaven knows 
she had indulged in every variety — only one re¬ 
mained; she loved a good dinner, washed down with 
plenty of good wine. But she loved her husband; 
now she began to feel worried because her “ little 
man ” had not returned to dinner. She was about 
to sit down without him, when the waiter cried out: 
“ Here is master.” And Fanferlot appeared in 
person. 

Three years before, Fanferlot had kept a little 


32 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


private inquiry office; Madame Alexandre dealt 
without a license in perfumery and toilet articles, 
and, finding it necessary to have some of her doubt¬ 
ful customers watched, engaged Fanferlot’s services; 
this was the origin of their acquaintance. 

If they went through the marriage ceremony for 
the good of the mayoralty and the church, it was 
because they imagined it would, like a baptism, wash 
out the sins of the past. Upon this momentous day, 
Fanferlot gave up his private inquiry office, and en¬ 
tered the police, where he had already been occasion¬ 
ally employed, and Madame Alexandre retired from 
business. 

Uniting their savings, they hired and furnished the 
Grand Archangel, which they were now carrying on 
prosperously, esteemed by their neighbors, who were 
ignorant of Fanferlot’s connection with the police 
force. 

“ Why, how late you are, my little man! ” ex¬ 
claimed Madame Alexandre as she dropped her 
knife and fork, and rushed forward to embrace her 
husband. 

Fanferlot received her caress with an air of ab¬ 
straction. “ My back is broken,” he said. “ I have 
been the whole day playing billiards with Evariste, 
M. Fauvel’s valet, and allowed him to win as often 
as he wished — a man who does not know what 
pool is! I became acquainted with him yesterday, 
and now I am his best friend. If I wish to enter 
M. Fauvel’s service in Antonin’s place, I can rely 
upon Evariste’s good word.” 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 33 

“ What, you be an office messenger? You? ” 

“ Of course I would. How else am I to get an 
opportunity of studying my characters, if I am not 
on the spot to continually watch them? ” 

“ Then the valet gave you no information?” 

“ None that I could make use of, and yet I turned 
him inside out like a glove. This banker is a re¬ 
markable man; you don’t often meet with one of 
his sort nowadays. Evariste says he has not a single 
vice, not even a little defect by which his valet could 
gain ten sous. He neither smokes, drinks, nor 
plays; in fact, he is a saint. He is worth millions, 
and lives as respectably and quietly as a grocer. He 
is devoted to his wife, adores his children, is very 
hospitable, but seldom goes into society.” 

“ Then his wife is young? ” 

“ No, she must be about fifty.” 

Madame Alexandre reflected a minute, then 
asked: “ Did you inquire about the other members 
of the family? ” 

“ Certainly. The younger son is in the army. 
The elder son, Lucien, lives with his parents, and is 
altogether as proper as a young lady. He is so 
good, indeed, that he is perfectly stupid.” 

"‘And what about the niece?” 

“ Evariste could tell me nothing about her.” 
Madame Alexandre shrugged her fat shoulders. 
“ If you have discovered nothing,” she said, “ it is 
because there is nothing to be discovered. Still, do 
you know what I would do, if I were you? ” 

“ Tell me.” 


34 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ I would consult M. Lecoq.” 

Fanferlot jumped up as if he had been shot. 
“ Now, that’s pretty advice! ” he exclaimed. “ Do 
you want me to lose my place? M. Lecoq does not 
suspect that I have anything to do with the case, ex¬ 
cepting to obey his orders.” 

“ Nobody told you to let him know you were in¬ 
vestigating it on your own account. You can con¬ 
sult him with an air of indifference, as if you were 
not at all interested; and, after you have got his 
opinion, you can take advantage of it.” 

The detective weighed his wife’s words, and then 
said: “ Perhaps you are right; yet M. Lecoq is so 
deucedly shrewd, that he might see through me.” 

“Shrewd!” echoed Madame Alexandre; 
“ shrewd! All of you at the Prefecture say that so 
often, that he has gained his reputation by it. You 
are just as sharp as he is.” 

“ Well, we will see. I will think the matter over; 
but, in the mean time, what does the girl say?” 
The “ girl ” was Madame Nina Gipsy. 

In taking up her abode at the Grand Archangel, 
Madame Nina thought she was following good ad¬ 
vice; and, as Fanferlot had never appeared in her 
presence since, she was still under the impression that 
she had obeyed a friend of Prosper’s. When she 
received her summons from M. Patrigent, she ad¬ 
mired the wonderful skill of the police in discover¬ 
ing her hiding place; for she had established her¬ 
self at the hotel under a false, or rather her true 
name, Palmyre Chocareille. Artfully questioned 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 35 

by her inquisitive landlady, she had, without any 
mistrust, confided her history to her. Thus Fanfer- 
lot was able to impress the magistrate with the idea 
of his being a skillful detective, when he pretended 
to have discovered all this information from a variety 
of sources. 

“ She is still upstairs,” replied Madame Alex¬ 
andre. “ She suspects nothing; but to keep her in 
the house becomes every day more difficult. I don’t 
know what the magistrate told her, but she came 
home quite beside herself with anger. She wanted 
to go and make a fuss at M. Fauvel’s. Then she 
wrote a letter, which she told Jean to post for her; 
but I kept it to show you.” 

“What!” interrupted Fanferlot, “you have a 
letter, and did not tell me before? Perhaps it con¬ 
tains the clew to the mystery. Give it to me, quick.” 

Obeying her husband, Madame Alexandre opened 
a little cupboard and took out a letter, which she 
handed to him. “ Here, take it,” she said, “ and 
be satisfied.” 

Considering that she used to be a chamber-maid, 
Palmyre Chocareille, since become Madame Gipsy, 
wrote well. Her letter bore the following address, 
written in a free, flowing hand: 

“ M. L. de Clameran, 

" Forge-Master , Hotel du Louvre, 

“ To be handed to M. Raoul de Lagors. 

“ (Immediate.) ” 

“ Oh, ho! ” said Fanferlot, accompanying his ex- 


36 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


clamation with a little whistle, as was his habit when 
he thought he had made a grand discovery. “ Oh, 
ho!” 

“Are you going to open it?” inquired Madame 
Alexandre. 

“ A little bit,” said Fanferlot, as he dexterously 
opened the envelope. 

Madame Alexandre leaned over her husband’s 
shoulder, and they both read the following: 

“ Monsieur Raoul —Prosper is in prison, accused of a 
robbery which he never committed. I wrote to you three 
days ago.” 

“What!” interrupted Fanferlot, “this silly girl 
wrote, and I never saw the letter? ” 

“ But, little man, she must have posted it herself, 
the day she went to the Palais de Justice.” 

“ Very likely,” said Fanferlot, propitiated. He 
continued reading: 

“ I wrote to you three days ago, and have no reply. Who 
will help Prosper if his best friends desert him? If you 
don’t answer this letter, I shall consider myself released 
from a certain promise, and without scruple will tell Pros¬ 
per of the conversation I overheard between you and M. de 
Clameran. But I can count on you, can I not? I shall 
expect you at the Grand Archangel, on the Quai St. Michel, 
the day after to-morrow, between twelve and four.— Nina 
Gipsy.” 

The letter read, Fanferlot at once proceeded to 
copy it. 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 37 

“ Well! ” said Madame Alexandre, “ what do you 
think? ” 

Fanferlot was delicately refastening the letter 
when the door of the hotel office was abruptly 
opened, and the waiter twice whispered: “Pst! 
Pst! ” 

Fanferlot rapidly disappeared into a dark closet. 
He had barely time to close the door before Madame 
Gipsy entered the room. The poor girl was sadly 
changed. She was pale and hollow-cheeked, and her 
eyes were red with weeping. 

On seeing her, Madame Alexandre could not con¬ 
ceal her surprise. “ Why, my child, you are not go¬ 
ing out? ” said she. 

“ I am obliged to do so, madame; and I have come 
to ask you to tell any one that may call during my 
absence to wait until I return.” 

“ But where in the world are you going at this 
hour, unwell as you are? ” 

For a moment Madame Gipsy hesitated. “ Oh,” 
she said, “ you are so kind that I am tempted to con¬ 
fide in you; read this note which a messenger just 
now brought to me.” 

“What!” cried Madame Alexandre perfectly 
aghast; “ a messenger enter my house, and go up to 
your room! ” 

“ Is there anything surprising in that? ” 

“No, oh, no! nothing surprising.” And in a 
tone loud enough to be heard in the closet, Madame 
Alexandre read the note: 

“ A friend of Prosper’s who can neither receive 


38 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


you, nor present himself at your hotel, is very anx¬ 
ious to speak to you. Be in the omnibus office op¬ 
posite the tower of Saint Jacques, to-night at nine 
precisely, and the writer will be there, and tell you 
what he has to say. 

“ I have appointed this public place for the rendez¬ 
vous so as to relieve your mind of all fear.” 

“ And you are going to this rendezvous? ” 

“ Certainly, madame.” 

“ But it is imprudent, foolish: it is a snare to en¬ 
trap you.” 

“ It makes no difference,” interrupted Nina. “ I 
am so unfortunate already that I have nothing more 
to dread. Any change would be a relief.” And, 
without waiting to hear anything more, she went off. 
The door had, scarcely closed upon her before Fan- 
ferlot bounced from the closet. 

The mild detective was white with rage, and swore 
violently. “What is the meaning of this?” he 
cried. “ Am I to stand by and have people walking 
all over the Grand Archangel as if it were a public 
street? ” Madame Alexandre stood trembling, and 
dared not speak. “ Was ever such impudence heard 
of before! ” he continued. “ A messenger comes 
into my house, and goes upstairs without being seen 
by anybody! I will look into this. And the idea 
of you, Madame Alexandre, you, a sensible woman, 
being idiotic enough to try and persuade that little 
viper not to keep the appointment! ” 

“ But, my dear — ” 

“ Had you not sense enough to know that I would 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 


39 


follow her, and discover what she is attempting to 
conceal? Come, make haste and help me, so that 
she won’t recognize me.” 

In a few minutes Fanferlot was completely dis¬ 
guised by a thick beard, a wig, and a linen blouse, 
and looked for all the world like one of those dis¬ 
reputable working men who go about seeking for 
employment, and, at the same time, hoping they may 
not find any. 

“ Have you your life preserver? ” asked the solici¬ 
tous Madame Alexandre. 

“Yes, yes; make haste and have that letter to 
M. de Clameran posted, and keep on the look out.’* 
And without listening to his wife, who called after 
him: “ Good luck,” Fanferlot darted into the street. 

Madame Gipsy had some minutes’ start of him; 
but he ran up the street he knew she must have taken, 
and overtook her on the Pont-au-Change. She was 
walking with the uncertain manner of a person who, 
impatient to be at a rendezvous, has started too soon, 
and is obliged to occupy the intervening time. First 
she would walk slowly, then quicken her steps, and 
proceed very rapidly. She strolled up and down the 
Place du Chatelet several times, read the theater- 
bills, and finally seated herself on a bench. One 
minute before a quarter to nine, she entered the om¬ 
nibus-office, and sat down. 

A moment afterwards Fanferlot entered; but, as 
he feared that Madame Gipsy might recognize him 
in spite of his beard, he took a seat at the opposite 
end of the room, in a dark corner. “ Singular place 


40 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


for a conversation,” he thought, as he watched the 
young woman. “ Who in the world can have made 
this appointment in an omnibus office ? Judging from 
her evident curiosity and uneasiness, I could swear 
she has not the faintest idea for whom she is wait¬ 
ing.” 

Meanwhile, the office was rapidly filling with peo¬ 
ple. Every minute an official would shout out the 
destination of an omnibus which had just arrived, 
and the passengers would rush in to obtain tickets, 
hoping to be able to proceed by it. 

As each new-comer entered, Nina would tremble, 
and Fanferlot would say, “This must be him!” 
Finally, as the Hotel-de-Ville clock was striking nine, 
a man entered, and, without going to the ticket-desk, 
walked directly up to Nina, bowed, and took a seat 
beside her. He was of medium-size, rather stout, 
with a crimson face, and fiery-red whiskers. His 
dress was that of a well-to-do merchant, and there 
was nothing in his manner or appearance to excite at¬ 
tention. 

Fanferlot watched him eagerly. “ Well, my 
friend,” he said to himself, “ in future I shall recog¬ 
nize you, no matter where we meet; and this very 
evening I will find out who you are.” Despite his 
intent listening, Fanferlot could not hear a word 
spoken by either the stranger or Nina. All he could 
do was to judge what the subject of their conversa¬ 
tion might be by their gestures. 

When the stout man bowed and spoke to her, 
Madame Gipsy looked so surprised that it was evi- 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 


41 


dent she had never seen him before. When he sat 
down by her, and said a few words, she started up 
with a frightened air, as if seeking to escape. A 
single word and look made her resume her seat. 
Then, as the stout man went on talking, Nina’s at¬ 
titude betrayed a certain apprehension. She evi¬ 
dently refused to do something required of her; 
then suddenly she seemed to consent, when a good 
reason was given for her doing so. At one moment 
she appeared ready to weep, and the next her pretty 
face was illumined by a bright smile. Finally, she 
shook hands with her companion, as if she were con¬ 
firming a promise. 

“ What can all this mean? ” said Fanferlot to him¬ 
self, as he sat in his dark corner, biting his nails. 
“ What an idiot I am to have stationed myself so 
far off! ” He was thinking how he could manage to 
approach nearer without arousing their suspicions, 
when the stout man rose, offered his arm to Madame 
Gipsy, who accepted it without hesitation, and they 
walked together towards the door. 

They were so engrossed with each other, that Fan¬ 
ferlot thought he could, without risk, follow them 
closely; and it was well he did, for the crowd was 
dense outside, and he would soon have lost sight of 
them. Reaching the door, he saw the stout man and 
Nina cross the pavement, hail a cab, and enter it. 

“ Very good,” muttered Fanferlot, “ I’ve got 
them now. There is no need to hurry.” 

While the driver was gathering up his reins, Fan¬ 
ferlot prepared himself; and, when the cab started, 


42 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

he set off at a brisk trot, determined upon following 
it to the end of the earth. 

The cab proceeded along the Boulevard Sebas¬ 
topol. It went pretty fast; but it was not for noth¬ 
ing that Fanferlot had been dubbed the Squirrel. 
With his elbows glued to his sides, and economizing 
his wind, he ran on. By the time he had reached the 
Boulevard St. Denis, he began to get winded, and 
stiff from the pain in his side. The cabman abruptly 
turned into the Rue Faubourg St. Martin. 

But Fanferlot, who at eight years of age, had 
played about the streets of Paris, was not to be 
baffled; he was a man of resources. He seized hold 
of the springs of the cab, raised himself up by the 
strength of his wrists, and hung on, with his legs 
resting on the axle-tree of the hind wheels. He was 
not particularly comfortable, but then, he no longer 
ran the risk of being distanced. “ Now,” he 
chuckled, behind his false beard, u you may drive as 
fast as you please, cabby.” 

The man whipped his horses, and drove furiously 
along the hilly street of the Faubourg St. Martin. 
Finally the cab stopped in front of a wine-shop, and 
the driver jumped down from his seat, and went in. 

The detective also left his uncomfortable post, and 
crouching in a doorway waited for Nina and her 
companion to alight, with the intention of following 
closely upon their heels. Five minutes passed, and 
still there were no signs of them. “ What can they 
be doing all this time?” grumbled the detective. 
With great precautions he approached the cab, and 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 


43 


peeped in. Oh, cruel deception! it was empty! 

Fanferlot felt as if some one had thrown a bucket 
of ice-water over him; he remained rooted to the 
spot with his mouth open, the picture of blank be¬ 
wilderment. He soon recovered his wits sufficiently 
to burst forth into a volley of oaths, loud enough to 
rattle all the window-panes in the neighborhood. 

“ Tricked! ” he cried, “ fooled! Ah! but won’t 
I make them pay for this! ” 

In a moment his quick mind had run over the 
gamut of possibilities, probable and improbable. 
“ Evidently,” he muttered, “ this fellow and Nina 
entered by one door, and got out by the other; the 
trick is simple enough. If they resorted to it, ’tis 
because they feared being followed. If they feared 
being followed, they have uneasy consciences, there¬ 
fore —” He suddenly interrupted his monologue 
as the idea struck him that he had better endeavor to 
find out something from the driver. 

Unfortunately, the driver was in a very surly 
mood, and not only refused to answer, but shook his 
whip in so threatening a manner that Fanferlot 
deemed it prudent to beat a retreat. “ Oh, hang it,” 
he muttered, “ perhaps the driver is mixed up in the 
affair also! ” 

But what could he do now at this time of night? 
He could not imagine. He walked dejectedly back 
to the quay, and it was half-past eleven when he 
reached his own door. “ Has the little fool re¬ 
turned?” he inquired of Madame Alexandre, the 
instant she let him in. 


44 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ No; but here are two large bundles which have 
come for her.” 

Fanferlot hastily opened them. They contained 
three cotton dresses, some heavy shoes, and some 
linen caps. “ Well,” said the detective in a vexed 
tone, “ now she is going to disguise herself. Upon 
my word, I am getting puzzled! What can she be 
up to ? ” 

When Fanferlot was sulkily walking down the 
Faubourg St. Martin, he had fully made up his mind 
that he would not tell his wife of his discomfiture. 
But once at home, confronted with a new fact of 
nature to negative all his conjectures, his vanity dis¬ 
appeared. He confessed everything — his hopes so 
nearly realized, his strange mis-chance, and his 
suspicions. They talked the matter over and finally 
decided that they would not go to bed until Madame 
Gipsy, from whom Madame Alexandre was de¬ 
termined to obtain an explanation of what had hap¬ 
pened, returned. At one o’clock the worthy couple 
were about giving over all hope of her re-appearance, 
when they heard the bell ring. 

Fanferlot instantly slipped into the closet, and 
Madame Alexandre remained in the office to receive 
Nina. “ Here you are at last, my dear child! ” she 
cried. “ Oh, I have been so uneasy, so afraid lest 
some misfortune had happened! ” 

“ Thanks for your kind interest, madame. Has a 
bundle been sent here for me?” < 

Poor Nina’s appearance had strikingly changed; 
she was still sad, but no longer dejected as she had 


AN INTERVIEW WITH* M. LECOQ 45 

been. To her prostration of the last few days, had 
succeeded a firm and generous resolution, which was 
betrayed in her sparkling eyes and resolute step. 

u Yes, two bundles came for you; here they are. 
I suppose you saw M. Bertomy’s friend? ” 

“ Yes, madame, and his advice has so changed my 
plans, that, I regret to say, I must leave you to-mor¬ 
row.” 

“ Going away to-morrow! Then something must 
have happened! ” 

“ Oh! nothing that would interest you, madame.” 

After lighting her candle at the gas-burner, 
Madame Gipsy said: “Good-night” in a very sig¬ 
nificant way, and left the room. 

“ And what do you think of that, Madame Alex¬ 
andre?” asked Fanferlot, as he emerged from his 
hiding-place. 

“ It is incredible ! This girl writes to M. de 
Lagors to meet her here, and then does not wait for 
him.” 

“She evidently mistrusts us; she knows who I 
am.” 

“ Then this friend of the cashier must have told 
her.” 

“ Nobody knows who told her. I begin to think 
that I have to do with some very knowing thieves. 
They guess I am on their track, and are trying to 
escape me. I should not be at all surprised if this 
little rogue has the money herself, and intends to 
run off with it to-morrow.” 

“That is not my opinion; but listen to me, you 


46 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


had better take my advice, and consult M. Lecoq.” 

Fanferlot meditated awhile, then exclaimed: 
“ Very well; I will see him, just for your satisfaction; 
because I know that if I have not discovered any¬ 
thing, neither will he. But if he takes upon him¬ 
self to be domineering, it won’t do; for only let him 
show his insolence to me, and I will let him know his 
place! ” 

Notwithstanding this brave speech, the detective 
passed an uneasy night, and at six o’clock the next 
morning he was up — it was necessary to rise very 
early if one wished to catch M. Lecoq at home — 
and refreshed by a cup of strong coffee, he directed 
his steps towards the dwelling of the famous detec¬ 
tive. 

Fanferlot the Squirrel was certainly not afraid of 
his chief, as he called him, for he started off with his 
nose in the air, and his hat cocked on one side. But 
by the time he reached the Rue Montmarte, where 
M. Lecoq lived, his courage had vanished; he pulled 
his hat over his eyes, and hung his head, as if look¬ 
ing for relief among the paving-stones. He slowly 
ascended the stairs, pausing several times, and look¬ 
ing around as if he would like to fly. Finally he 
reached the third floor, and stood before a door dec¬ 
orated with the arms of the famous detective — a 
cock, the symbol of vigilance — and his heart failed 
him so that he had scarcely the courage to ring the 
bell. 

The door was opened by Janouille, M. Lecoq’s old 
servant, who had very much the manner and appear- 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 47 

ance of a grenadier. She was as faithful to her mas¬ 
ter as a watchdog, and always stood ready to attack 
any one who did not treat him with the august re¬ 
spect which she considered his due. “ Well, M. 
Fanferlot,” she said, “ you come at a right time for 
once in your life. The chief is waiting to see you.” 

Upon this announcement, Fanferlot was seized 
with a violent desire to retreat. By what chance 
could Lecoq be waiting for him? While he thus 
hesitated, Janouille seized him by the arm, and pulled 
him in, saying: “ Do you want to take root there? 
Come along, the master is busy at work in his study.” 

Seated at a desk in the middle of a large room, 
half library and half theatrical dressing-room, fur¬ 
nished in a curious style, was an individual with gold 
spectacles. This was M. Lecoq in his official char¬ 
acter. 

Fanferlot on his entrance advanced respectfully, 
bowing till his back-bone was a perfect curve. M. 
Lecoq laid down his pen, and looking sharply at 
him, said: “ Ah, so here you are, young man. Well, 
it seems that you haven’t made much progress in 
Bertomy’s case.” 

“ What,” murmured Fanferlot, “ you know —” 

“ I know that you have muddled everything until 
you can’t see your way out; so that you are ready to 
give in.” 

“ But, M. Lecoq, it was not I —” 

M. Lecoq rose, and walked up and down the room; 
suddenly he confronted Fanferlot, and said in a tone 
of scornful irony: “ What would you think, Master 


48 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

Squirrel, of a man who abuses the confidence of those 
who employ him, who reveals just enough to lead the 
prosecution on the wrong scent, who sacrifices to his 
own foolish vanity the cause of justice and the liberty 
of an unfortunate prisoner? ” 

Fanferlot started back with a scared look. “ I 
should say,” he stammered, “ I should say—” 

“ You would say this man ought to be punished, 
and dismissed from his employment; and you are 
right. The less a profession is honored, the more 
honorable should those be who belong to it. And 
yet you have been false to yours. Ah! Master 
Squirrel, we are ambitious, and we try to make the 
police service forward our own views! We let jus¬ 
tice go astray, and we go on a different tack. One 
must be a more cunning blood-hound than you are, 
my friend, to be able to hunt without a huntsman. 
You are too self-reliant by half.” 

“ But, my chief, I swear —” 

“ Silence! Do you pretend to say that you did 
your duty, and told all you knew to the investigating 
magistrate? Whilst others were giving information 
against the ’cashier, you were getting up evidence 
against the banker. You watched his movements: 
you became intimate with his valet.” 

Was M. Lecoq really angry, or pretending to be 
so? Fanferlot, who knew him well, was puzzled as 
to whether all this indignation was real. 

“ Still, if you were only skillful,” continued M. 
Lecoq, “it would be another matter; but no: you 
wish to be master, and you are not even fit to be a 
journeyman.” 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 49 

“ You are right, my chief,” said Fanferlot pite¬ 
ously, for he saw that it was useless for him to deny 
anything. “ But how could I go about an affair like 
this, where there was not even a trace, a sign of any 
kind to start from? ” 

M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders. “ You are an 
ass! ” exclaimed he. “Why, don’t you know that 
on the very day you were sent for with the com¬ 
missary to verify the fact of the robbery, you held — 
I do not say certainly, but very probably held — in 
your great stupid hands the means of knowing which 
key had been used when the money was stolen? ” 

“How is that?” 

“You want to know, do you? I will tell you. 
Do you remember the scratch you discovered on the 
safe? You were so struck by it, that you could not 
refrain from calling out directly you saw it. You 
carefully examined it, and were convinced that it was 
a fresh scratch, only a few hours old. You thought, 
and rightly too, that this scratch was made at the 
time of the theft. Now, with what was it made? 
Evidently with a key. That being the case, you 
should have asked for the keys both of the banker 
and the cashier. One of them would have probably 
had some particles of the hard green paint sticking to 
it.” 

Fanferlot listened with open mouth to this ex¬ 
planation. At the last words, he violently slapped 
his forehead with his hand and cried out: “Idiot! 
idiot!” 

“ You have correctly named yourself,” said M. 


50 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Lecoq. “ Idiot! This proof stares you right in the 
face, and you don’t see it! This scratch is the only 
clue there is to follow, and you must like a fool neg¬ 
lect it. If I find the guilty party, it will be by means 
of this scratch; and I am determined that I will find 
him.” 

At a distance the Squirrel very bravely abuses and 
defies M. Lecoq; but in his presence, he yields to the 
influence which this extraordinary man exercises upon 
all who approach him. This exact information, these 
minute details just given him, so upset his mind that 
he could not imagine where and how M. Lecoq had 
obtained them. Finally he humbly said: “You have 
then been occupying yourself with this case, my 
chief?” 

“ Probably I have; but I am not infallible, and 
may have overlooked some important evidence. 
Take a seat, and tell me all you know.” 

M. Lecoq was not the man to be hood-winked, so 
Fanferlot told the exact truth, a rare thing for him 
to do. However, as he reached the end of his state¬ 
ment, a feeling of mortified vanity prevented his tell¬ 
ing how he had been fooled by Nina and the stout 
man. Unfortunately for poor Fanferlot, M. Lecoq 
was always fully informed on every subject in which 
he interested himself. “ It seems to me, Master 
Squirrel,” said he, “ that you have forgotten some¬ 
thing. How far did you follow the empty cab?” 

Fanferlot blushed, and hung his head like a guilty 
school-boy. “ Oh, my chief! ” he cried, “ and you 
know all about that too! How could you have —” 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 51 

But a sudden idea flashed across his mind, he stopped 
short, bounded off his chair, and exclaimed: “Oh! 
I know now: you were the stout gentleman with the 
red *whiskers.” 

His amazement gave so singular an expression to 
his face that M. Lecoq could not restrain a smile. 
“ Then it was you! ” continued the bewildered de¬ 
tective; “you were the stout gentleman at whom I 
stared, so as to impress his appearance upon my 
mind, and I never recognized you! You would 
make a superb actor, my chief, if you would go on 
the stage; but I was disguised too — very well dis¬ 
guised.” 

“ Very poorly disguised: it is only just to you that 
I should let you know what a failure it was, Fanfer- 
lot. Do you think that a huge beard and a blouse 
are sufficient transformation? The eye is the thing 
to be changed — the eye ! The art lies in being able 
to change the eye. That is the secret.” This 
theory of disguise explained why the lynx-eyed Lecoq 
never appeared at the Prefecture of Police without 
his gold spectacles. 

“ Then, my chief,” said Fanferlot, clinging to his 
idea, “ you have been more successful than Madame 
Alexandre; you have made the little girl confess? 
You know why she leaves the Grand Archangel, why 
she does not wait for M. de Lagors, and why she has 
bought herself some cotton dresses? ” 

“ She is following my advice.” 

“ That being the case,” said the detective de¬ 
jectedly, “ there is nothing left for me to do, but to 
acknowledge myself an ass.” 


52 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ No, Squirrel,” said M. Lecoq kindly, “ you are 
not an ass. You merely did wrong in undertaking 
a task beyond your capacity. Have you progressed 
one step since you started in this affair? No. 
That shows that, although you are incomparable as 
a lieutenant, you do not possess the qualities of a 
general. I am going to present you with an aphor¬ 
ism; remember it, and let it be your guide in the 
future: A man can shine in the second rank, who 
would he totally eclipsed in the first ” 

Never had Fanferlot seen his chief so talkative 
and good-natured. Finding his deceit discovered, he 
had expected to be overwhelmed with a storm of 
anger; whereas he had escaped with a little shower 
that had cooled his brain. Lecoq’s anger disap¬ 
peared like one of those heavy clouds which threaten 
Jn the horizon for a moment, and then are suddenly 
% swept away by a gust of wind. 

But this unexpected affability made Fanferlot feel 
uneasy. He was afraid that something might be 
concealed beneath it. “ Do you know who the thief 
is, my chief? ” he inquired. 

“ I know no more than you do, Fanferlot; and you 
seem to have made up your mind, whereas I am still 
undecided. You declare the cashier to be innocent, 
and the banker guilty. I don’t know whether you 
are right or wrong. I follow after you, and have 
got no further than the preliminaries of my investi¬ 
gation. I am certain of but one thing, and that is, 
the scratch on the safe door. That scratch is my 
starting-point.” 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 


53 


As he spoke, M. Lecoq took from his desk an im¬ 
mense sheet of paper which he unrolled. On this 
paper was photographed the door of M. Fauvel’s 
safe. Every detail was rendered perfectly. 
There were the five movable buttons with the en¬ 
graved letters, and the narrow, projecting brass 
lock. The scratch was indicated with great exact¬ 
ness. 

“ Now,” said M. Lecoq, “ here is our scratch. It 
runs from top to bottom, starting diagonally, from 
the keyhole, and proceeding from left to right; that 
is to say it terminates on the side next to the private 
staircase leading to the banker’s apartments. Al¬ 
though very deep at the keyhole, it ends in ? scarcely 
perceptible mark.” 

“ Yes, my chief, I see all that.” 

“ Naturally you thought that this scratch was 
made by the person who took the money. Let us 
see if you were right. I have here a little iron box, 
painted green like M. Fauvel’s safe; here it is. 
Take a key, and try to scratch it.” 

“ The deuce take it! ” said Fanferlot after several 
attempts, “ this paint is awfully hard to move! ” 

“ Very hard, my friend, and yet that on the safe 
is harder still, and more solid. So you see the 
scratch you discovered could not have been made by 
the trembling hand of a thief letting the key slip.” 

“ Sapristi! ” exclaimed Fanferlot amazed; “ I 
never should have thought of that. It certainly re¬ 
quired great force to make the deep scratch on the 
safe.” 


54 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ Yes, but how was that force applied? I have 
been racking my brain for three days, and it was only 
yesterday that I came to a conclusion. Let us ex¬ 
amine if my conjectures present enough chances of 
probability to establish a starting-point.” 

M. Lecoq put the photograph aside, and, walking 
to the door communicating with his bedroom, took 
the key from the lock, and, holding it in his hands, 
said: “ Come here, Fanferlot, and stand by my side, 
there; very well. Now suppose that I want to open 
this door, and that you don’t wish me to open it; 
when you see me about to insert the key, what would 
be your first impulse? ” 

“ To put my hands on your arm, and draw it 
towards me so as to prevent your introducing the 
key.” 

“ Precisely so. Now let us try it; go on.” 
Fanferlot obeyed; and the key held by M. Lecoq, 
pulled aside from the lock, slipped along the door, 
and traced upon it, from above to below a diagonal 
scratch, the exact reproduction of the one in the 
photograph. 

“ Oh, oh, oh! ” exclaimed Fanferlot in three dif¬ 
ferent tones of admiration, as he stood gazing in a 
reverie at the door. 

“ Do you begin to understand? ” asked M. Lecoq. 

“ Understand, my chief? Why, a child could un¬ 
derstand it now. Ah, what a man you are! I see 
the scene as if I had been there. Two persons were 
present at the robbery; one wished to take the money, 
the other wished to prevent its being taken. That 
is clear, that is certain.” 


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 55 

Accustomed to triumphs of this sort, M. Lecoq 
was much amused at Fanferlot’s enthusiasm. 
“ There you go off, half-primed again,” he said good- 
humoredly; “ you regard as certain proof a circum¬ 
stance which may be accidental, and at the most only 
probable.” 

“ No, my chief; no! a man like you could not be 
mistaken; doubt is no longer possible.” 

“ That being the case, what deductions would you 
draw from our discovery? ” 

“ In the first place, it proves that I am correct in 
thinking the cashier innocent.” 

“How so?” 

“ Because, being at perfect liberty to open the safe 
whenever he wished to do so, it is not likely that he 
would have had a witness present when he. intended 
to commit the theft.” 

“ Well reasoned, Fanferlot. But on this suppo¬ 
sition the banker would be equally innocent; reflect 
a little.” 

Fanferlot reflected, and all his confidence vanished. 
“ You are right,” he said in a despairing tone. 
“ What can be done now? ” 

“ Look for the third rogue, or rather the real 
rogue, the one who opened the safe, and stole the 
notes, and who is still at large, while others are 
suspected.” 

“ Impossible, my chief, impossible! Don’t you 
know that M. Fauvel and his cashier had keys, and 
they only ? And they always kept these keys in their 
possession.” 



56 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ On the evening of the robbery the banker left 
his key in his escritoire.” 

“ Yes; but the key alone was not sufficient to open 
the safe; it was necessary that the word also should 
be known.” 

M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 
“ What was the word? ” he asked. 

“ Gipsy.” 

“ Which is the name of the cashier’s mistress. 
Now keep your eyes open. The day you find a man 
sufficiently intimate with Prosper to be aware of all 
the circumstances connected with this name, and who 
is at the same time on such a footing with the Fauvel 
family as would give him the privilege of entering 
M. Fauvel’s chamber, then, and not until then, will 
you discover the guilty party. On that day the 
problem will be solved.” 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 
By A. Conan Doyle 

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I 
have seldom heard him mention her under any other 
name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates 
the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any 
emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, 
and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, 
precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I 
take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing ma¬ 
chine that the world has seen; but as a lover, he 
would have placed himself in a false position. He 
never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe 
and a sneer. They were admirable things for the 
observer — excellent for drawing the veil from men’s 
motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner 
to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and 
finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a dis¬ 
tracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all 
his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, 
or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, 
would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion 
in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one 
woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene 
Adler, of dubious and questionable memory. 

From “Tales of Sherlock Holmes.” 

57 


58 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage 
had drifted us away from each other. My own 
complete happiness, and the home-centered interests 
which rise up around the man who first finds himself 
master of his own establishment, were sufficient to 
absorb all my attention; while Holmes, who loathed 
every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, 
remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried 
among his old books, and alternating from week to 
week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness 
of the drug and the fierce energy of his own keen 
nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by 
the study of crime, and occupied his immense facul¬ 
ties and extraordinary powers of observation in fol¬ 
lowing out those clews, and clearing up those mys¬ 
teries, which had been abandoned as hopeless by the 
official police. From time to time I heard some 
vague account of his doings; of his summons to 
Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his 
clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson 
brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission 
which he had accomplished so delicately and success¬ 
fully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond 
these signs of his activity, however, which I merely 
shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew 
little of my former friend and companion. 

One night — it was on the 20th of March, 1888 
— I was returning from a journey to a patient (for 
I had now returned to civil practice), when my way 
led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well- 
remembered door, which must always be associated 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


59 


in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark inci¬ 
dents of the “ Study in Scarlet,” I was seized with a 
keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how 
he was employing his extraordinary powers. His 
rooms were brilliantly lighted, and even as I looked 
up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark 
silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the 
room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his 
chest, and his hands clasped behind him. To me, 
who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and 
manner told their own story. He was at work 
again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams, 
and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I 
rang the bell, and was shown up to the chamber which 
had formerly been in part my own. 

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but 
he was glad, I think, to see me. With hardly a 
word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to 
an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and in¬ 
dicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. 
Then he stood before the fire, and looked me over in 
his singular introspective fashion. 

“ Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “ I think, 
Watson, that you have put on seven and a half 
pounds since I saw you.” 

“ Seven,” I answered. 

“ Indeed, I should have thought a little more. 
Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in practice 
again, I observe. You did not tell me that you in¬ 
tended to go into harness.” 

“ Then how do you know? ” 



60 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you 
have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that 
you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl? ” 

“ My dear Holmes,” said I, “ this is too much. 
You would certainly have been burned had you lived 
a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a country 
walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful 
mess; but as I have changed my clothes, I can’t 
imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she 
is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice; but 
there again I fail to see how you work it out.” 

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long nervous 
hands together. 

“ It is simplicity itself,” said he; “ my eyes tell me 
that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the 
firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost 
parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by 
some one who has very carelessly scraped round the 
edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud 
from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction that 
you had been out in vile weather, and that you had 
a particularly malignant boot-slicking specimen of 
the London slavey. As to your practice, if a gentle¬ 
man walks into my rooms, smelling of iodoform, 
with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right 
forefinger, and a bulge on the side of his top-hat to 
show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must 
be dull indeed if I do not pronounce him to be an 
active member of the medical profession.” 

I could not help laughing at the ease with which he 
explained his process of deduction. “ When I hear 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


61 


you give your reasons,’’ I remarked, “ the thing al¬ 
ways appears to me so ridiculously simple that I 
could easily do it myself, though at each successive 
instance of your reasoning I am baffled, until you ex¬ 
plain your process. And yet, I believe that my eyes 
are as good as yours.” 

“ Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, 
and throwing himself down into an armchair. 
“ You see, but you do not observe. The distinction* 
is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the 
steps which lead up from the hall to this room.” 

“ Frequently.” 

“ How often?” 

“ Well, some hundreds of times.” 

“Then how many are there?” 

“How many? I don’t know.” 

“Quite so! You have not observed. And 
yet you have seen. That is just my point. Now, I 
know there are seventeen steps, because I have both 
seen and observed. By the way, since you are in¬ 
terested in these little problems, and since you are 
good enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling 
experiences, you may be interested in this.” He 
threw over a sheet of thick pink-tinted note-paper 
which had been lying open upon the table. “ It came 
by the last post,” said he. “ Read it aloud.” 

The note was undated, and without either signa¬ 
ture or address. 

“ There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to 
eight o’clock,” it said, “ a gentleman who desires to 
consult you upon a matter of the very deepest mo- 



62 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


ment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses 
of Europe have shown that you are one who may 
safely be trusted with matters which are of an im¬ 
portance which can hardly be exaggerated. This ac¬ 
count of you we have from all quarters received. 
Be in your chamber, then, at that hour, and do not 
take it amiss if your visitor wears a mask.” 

“ This is indeed a mystery,” I remarked. u What 
do you imagine that it means? ” 

“ I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to 
theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins 
to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to 
suit facts. But the note itself — what do you de¬ 
duce from it? ” 

I carefully examined the writing, and the paper 
upon which it was written. 

“ The man who wrote it was presumably well to 
do,” I remarked, endeavoring to imitate my com¬ 
panion’s processes. “ Such paper could not be 
bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly 
strong and stiff.” 

“ Peculiar — that is the very word,” said Holmes. 
“ It is not an English paper at all. Hold it up to the 
light.” 

I did so, and saw a large E with a small g, a P and 
a large G with a small t woven into the texture of 
the paper. 

“ What do you make of that? ” asked Holmes. 

“ The name of the maker, no doubt; or his mono¬ 
gram, rather.” 

“ Not all. The G with the small t stands for 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


63 


{ Gesellschaft/ which is the German for * Company/ 
It is a customary contraction like our ‘ Co/ P, of 
course, stands for ‘ Papier.’ Now for the Eg. 
Let us glance at our ‘ Continental Gazetteer/ ” He 
took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves. 
“ Eglow, Eglonitz — here we are, Egria. It is in a 
German-speaking country — in Bohemia, not far 
from Carlsbad. ‘ Remarkable as being the scene 
of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous 
glass factories and paper mills.’ Ha! ha! my boy, 
what do you make of that?” His eyes sparkled, 
and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from 
his cigarette. 

“ The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said. 

“ Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is 
a German. Do you note the peculiar construction 
of the sentence —‘ This account of you we have from 
all quarters received’? A Frenchman or Russian 
could not have written that. It is the German who 
is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only remains, 
therefore, to discover what is wanted by this Ger¬ 
man who writes upon Bohemian paper, and prefers 
wearing a mask to showing his face. And here he 
comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our 
doubts.” 

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ 
hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed 
by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes whistled. 

“ A pair, by the sound,” said he. “ Yes,” he con¬ 
tinued, glancing out of the window. “ A nice little 
brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred and 


64 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this case, 
Watson, if there is nothing else.” 

“ I think I had better go, Holmes.” 

“ Not a bit, doctor. Stay where you are. I am 
lost without my Boswell. And this promises to be 
interesting. It would be a pity to miss it.” 

“ But your client-” 

“ Never mind him. I may want your help, and so 
may he. Here he comes. Sit down in that arm¬ 
chair, doctor, and give us your best attention.” 

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon 
the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately 
outside the door. Then there was a loud and au¬ 
thoritative tap. 

“ Come in! ” said Holmes. 

A man entered who could hardly have been less 
than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and 
limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich with a rich¬ 
ness which would, in England, be looked upon as 
akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were 
slashed across the sleeves and front of his double- 
breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was 
thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame- 
colored silk, and secured at the neck with a brooch 
which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots 
which extended half-way up his calves, and which 
were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, com¬ 
pleted the impression of barbaric opulence which was 
suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a 
broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across 
the upper part of his face, extending down past the 



A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


65 


cheekbones, a black visored-mask, which he had ap¬ 
parently adjusted that very moment, for his hand 
was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower 
part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong 
character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, 
straight chin, suggestive of resolution pushed to the 
length of obstinacy. 

“ You had my note? ” he asked, with a deep, harsh 
voice and a strongly marked German accent. “ I 
told you that I would call.” He looked from one 
to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address. 

“ Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “ This is my 
friend and colleague, Doctor Watson, who is oc¬ 
casionally good enough to help me in my cases. 
Whom have I the honor to address? ” 

“ You may address me as the Count von Kramm, 
a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this 
gentleman, your friend, is a man of honor and dis¬ 
cretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most 
extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer 
to communicate with you alone.” 

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist 
and pushed me back into my chair. “ It is both, 
or none,” said he. “ You may say before this gentle¬ 
man anything which you may say to me.” 

The count shrugged his broad shoulders. 
“ Then I must begin,” said he, “ by binding you both 
to absolute secrecy for two years, at the end of that 
time the matter will be of no importance. At pres¬ 
ent it is not too much to say that it is of such weight 
that it may have an influence upon European his¬ 
tory.” 


66 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ I promise,” said Holmes. 

“ And I.” 

“ You will excuse this mask,” continued our 
strange visitor. “ The august person who employs 
me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may 
confess at once the title by which I have just called 
myself is not exactly my own.” 

“ I was aware of it,” said Holmes, dryly. 

“ The circumstances are of great delicacy, and 
every precaution has to be taken to quench what 
might grow to be an immense scandal, and seriously 
compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. 
To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great 
House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia.” 

“ I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, 
settling himself down in his armchair, and closing 
his eyes. 

Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise 
at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had 
been, no doubt, depicted to him as the most incisive 
reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. 
Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked im¬ 
patiently at his gigantic client. 

“ If your majesty would condescend to state your 
case,” he remarked, “ I should be better able to 
advise you.” 

The man sprang from his chair, and paced up and 
down the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, 
with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask 
from his face and hurled it upon the ground. 

“ You are right,” he cried, “ I am the king. 
Why should I attempt to conceal it? ” 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


67 


“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your 
majesty had not spoken before I was aware that I 
was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von 
Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and he¬ 
reditary King of Bohemia.” 

“ But you can understand,” said our strange 
visitor, sitting down once more and passing his hand 
over his high, white forehead, “ you can understand 
that I am not accustomed to doing such business in 
my own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that 
I could not confide it to an agent without putting 
myself in his power. I have come incognito from 
Prague for the purpose of consulting you.” 

“ Then, pray consult,” said Holmes, shutting his 
eyes once more. 

“The facts are briefly these: Some five years 
ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the 
acquaintance of the well-known adventuress Irene 
Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.” 

“ Kindly look her up in my index, doctor,” mur¬ 
mured Holmes, without opening his eyes. For many 
years he had adopted a system for docketing all 
paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it 
was difficult to name a subject or a person on which 
he could not at once furnish information. In this 
case I found her biography sandwiched in between 
that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-com¬ 
mander who had written a monograph upon the 
deep-sea fishes. 

“Let me see!” said Holmes. “Hum! Born 
in New Jersey in the year of 1858. Contralto — 


68 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


hum! La Scala — hum! Prima donna Imperial 
Opera of Warsaw — yes! Retired from operatic 
stage — ha ! Living in London — quite so! Your 
majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this 
young person, wrote her some compromising letters, 
and is now desirous of getting those letters back.” 

“ Precisely so. But how-” 

“Was there a secret marriage?” 

“ None.” 

“ No legal papers or certificates? ” 

' “ None.” 

“ Then I fail to follow your majesty. If this 
young person should produce her letters for black¬ 
mailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their 
authenticity? ” 

“ There is the writing.” 

“Pooh-pooh! Forgery.” 

“ My private note-paper.” 

“ Stolen.” 

“ My own seal.” 

“ Imitated.” 

“ My photograph.” 

“ Bought.” 

“ We were both in the photograph.” 

“Oh, dear! That is very bad. Your majesty 
has indeed committed an indiscretion.” 

“I was mad — insane.” 

“ You have compromised yourself seriously.” 

“ I was only crown prince then. I was young. 
I am but thirty now.” 

“ It must be recovered.” 



A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


69 


“ We have tried and failed.” 

“ Your majesty must pay. It must be bought.” 

“ She will not sell.” 

“ Stolen, then.” 

“ Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars 
in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted 
her luggage when she traveled. Twice she has been 
waylaid. There has been no result.” 

“ No sign of it? ” 

“ Absolutely none.” 

Holmes laughed. “ It is quite a pretty little prob¬ 
lem,” said he. 

“ But a very serious one to me,” returned the 
king, reproachfully. 

“ Very, indeed. And what does she propose to 
do with the photograph? ” 

“ To ruin me.” 

“ But how?” 

“ I am about to be married.” 

“ So I have heard.” 

“To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meiningen, 
second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. You 
may know the strict principles of her family. She 
is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a 
doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to 
an end.” 

“ And Irene Adler? ” 

“ Threatens to send them the photograph. And 
she will do it. I know that she will do it. You 
do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She 
has the face of the most beautiful of women and the 


70 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I 
should marry another woman, there are no lengths 
to which she would not go — none.” 

“ You are sure she has not sent it yet? ” 

“ I am sure.” 

“And why?” 

“ Because she has said that she would send it on 
the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. 
That will be next Monday.” 

“ Oh, then we have three days yet,” said Holmes, 
with a yawn. “ That is very fortunate, as I have 
one or two matters of importance to look into just 
at present. Your majesty will, of course, stay in 
London for the present?” 

“ Certainly. You will find me at the Langham, 
under the name of Count von Kramm.” 

“ Then I shall drop you a line to let you know 
how we progress.” 

“ Pray do so; I shall be all anxiety.” 

“ Then, as to money? ” 

“ You have carte blanche” 

“ Absolutely? ” 

“ I tell you that I would give one of the provinces 
of my kingdom to have that photograph.” 

“ And for present expenses? ” 

The king took a heavy chamois leather bag from 
under his cloak, and laid it on the table. 

“ There are three hundred pounds in gold, and 
seven hundred in notes,” he said. 

Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his 
notebook, and handed it to him. 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


71 


‘‘And mademoiselle’s address?” he asked. 

“ Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John’s 
Wood.” 

Holmes took a note of it. “ One other question,” 
said he, thoughtfully. “ Was the photograph a 
cabinet? ” 

“ It was.” 

“ Then, good-night, your majesty, and I trust 
that we shall soon have some good news for you. 
And good-night, Watson,” he added, as the wheels 
of the royal brougham rolled down the street. “ If 
you will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon, 
at three o’clock, I should like to chat this little matter 
over with you.” 

At three o’clock precisely I was at Baker Street, 
but Holmes had not yet returned. The landlady 
informed me that he had left the house shortly after 
eight o’clock in the morning. I sat down beside 
the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, 
however long he might be. I was already deeply 
interested in his inquiry, for, though it was sur¬ 
rounded by none of the grim and strange features 
which were associated with the two crimes which I 
have already recorded, still, the nature of the case 
and the exalted station of his client gave it a char¬ 
acter of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of 
the investigation which my friend had on hand, there 
was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, 
and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a 
pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to 


72 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disen¬ 
tangled the most inextricable mysteries. So accus¬ 
tomed was I to his invariable success that the very 
possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into 
my head. 

It was close upon four before the door opened, and 
a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whisk¬ 
ered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, 
walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my 
friend’s amazing powers in the use- of disguises, I 
had to look three times before I was certain that it 
was indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the 
bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed- 
suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hands 
into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front 
of the fire, and laughed heartily for some minutes. 

“Well, really!” he cried, and then he choked, 
and laughed again until he was obliged to lie back, 
limp and helpless, in the chair. 

“What is it?” 

“ It’s quite too funny. I am sure you could never 
guess how I employed my morning, or what I ended 
by doing.” 

“ I can’t imagine. I suppose that you have been 
watching the habits, and, perhaps, the house, of 
Miss Irene Adler.” 

“ Quite so, but the sequel was rather unusual. I 
will tell you, however. I left the house a little after 
eight o’clock this morning in the character of a groom 
out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and 
freemasonry among horsy men. Be one of them, 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


73 


and you will know all that there is to know. I soon 
found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a 
garden at the back, but built out in front right up to 
the road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. 
Large sitting-room on the right side, well furnished, 
with long windows almost to the floor, and those 
preposterous English window-fasteners which a child 
could open. Behind there was nothing remarkable, 
save that the passage window could be reached from 
the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and 
examined it closely from every point of view, but 
without noting anything else of interest. 

“ I then lounged down the street, and found, as 
I expected, that there was a mews in a lane which 
runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent the 
hostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and 
I received in exchange twopence, a glass of half-and- 
half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much informa¬ 
tion as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say noth¬ 
ing of half a dozen other people in the neighborhood, 
in whom I was not in the least interested, but whose 
biographies I was compelled to listen to.” 

“ And what of Irene Adler? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, she has turned all the men’s heads down in 
that part. She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet 
on this planet. So say the Serpentine Mews, to a 
man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out 
at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for 
dinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except 
when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but a 
good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and 




74 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


dashing; never calls less than once a day, and often 
twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton of the Inner 
Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a con¬ 
fidant. They had driven him home a dozen times 
from Serpentine Mews, and knew all about him. 
When I had listened to all that they had to tell, I 
began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once 
more, and to think over my plan of campaign. 

“ This Godfrey Norton was evidently an im¬ 
portant factor in the matter. He was a lawyer. 
That sounded ominous. What was the relation be¬ 
tween them, and what the object of his repeated 
visits? Was she his client, his friend, or his mis¬ 
tress? If the former, she had probably transferred 
the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was 
less likely. On the issue of this question depended 
whether I should continue my work at Briony Lodge, 
or turn my attention to the gentleman’s chambers 
in the Temple. It was a delicate point, and it 
widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore 
you with these details, but I have to let you see my 
little difficulties, if you are to understand the situa¬ 
tion.” 

“ I am following you closely,” I answered. 

“ I was still balancing the matter in my mind, 
when a hansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and 
a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably 
handsome man, dark, aquiline, and mustached — 
evidently the man of whom I had heard. He ap¬ 
peared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cab¬ 
man to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


75 


the door, with the air of a man who was thoroughly 
at home. 

“ He was in the house about half an hour, and I 
could catch glimpses of him in the windows of the 
sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking excitedly 
and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. 
Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried 
than before. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled 
a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it ear¬ 
nestly. ‘ Drive like the devil! ’ he shouted, ‘ first 
to Gross & Hankey’s in Regent Street, and then to 
the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. 
Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes! ’ 

“ Away they went, and I was just wondering 
whether I should not do well to follow them, when 
up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman 
with his coat only half buttoned, and his tie under 
his ear, while all the tags of his harness were stick¬ 
ing out of the buckles. It hadn’t pulled up before 
she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only 
caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was 
a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die 
for. 

“‘The Church of St. Monica, John,’ she cried; 
‘ and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty 
minutes.’ 

“ This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I 
was just balancing whether I should run for it, or 
whether I should perch behind her landau, when a 
cab came through the street. The driver looked 
twice at such a shabby fare; but I jumped in before 


76 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


he could object. ‘ The Church of St. Monica,’ said 
I, ‘ and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty 
minutes.’ It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and 
of course it was clear enough what was in the wind. 

“ My cabby drove fast. I don’t think I ever 
drove faster, but the others were there before us. 
The cab and landau with their steaming horses were 
in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man, 
and hurried into the church. There was not a soul 
there save the two whom I had followed, and a 
surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating 
with them. They were all three standing in a knot 
in front of the altar. I lounged up the side aisle 
like any other idler who has dropped into a church. 
Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced 
round to me, and Godfrey Norton came running as 
hard as he could towards me. 

“ ‘ Thank God! ’ he cried. ‘ You’ll do. Come! 
Come! ’ 

“ 4 What then?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Come, man, come; only three minutes, or it 
won’t be legal.’ 

“ I was half dragged up to the altar, and, before 
I knew where I was, I found myself mumbling re¬ 
sponses which were whispered in my ear, and vouch¬ 
ing for things of which I knew nothing, and generally 
assisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, 
spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all 
done in an instant, and there was the gentleman 
thanking me on the one side and the lady on the 
other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


77 


It was the most preposterous position in which I 
ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought 
of it that started me laughing just now. It seems 
that there had been some informality about their 
license; that the clergyman absolutely refused to 
marry them without a witness of some sort, and 
that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from 
having to sally out into the streets in search of a 
best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I 
mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of 
the occasion.” 

“ This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,” said 
I; “ and what then? ” 

“ Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. 
It looked as if the pair might take an immediate 
departure, and to necessitate very prompt and ener¬ 
getic measures on my part. At the church door, 
however, they separated, he driving back to the 
Temple, and she to her own house. ‘ I shall drive 
out in the park at five as usual/ she said, as she left 
him. I heard no more. They drove away in dif¬ 
ferent directions, and I went off to make my own 
arrangements.” 

“Which are?” 

“ Some cold beef and a glass of beer,” he an¬ 
swered, ringing the bell. “ I have been too busy to 
think of food, and I am likely to be busier still this 
evening. By the way, doctor, I shall want your co¬ 
operation.” 

“ I shall be delighted.” 

“ You don’t mind breaking the law? ” 


78 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ Not in the least.” 

“ Nor running a chance of arrest? ” 

“ Not in a good cause.” 

“ Oh, the cause is excellent! ” 

“ Then I am your man.” 

“ I was sure that I might rely on you.” 

“ But what is it you wish? ” 

“ When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I 
will make it clear to you. Now,” he said, as he 
turned hungrily on the simple fare that our land¬ 
lady had provided, “ I must discuss it while I eat, 
for I have not much time. It is nearly five now. 
In two hours we must be on the scene of action. 
Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her 
drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to 
meet her.” 

“ And what then? ” 

“ You must leave that to me. I have already 
arranged what is to occur. There is only one point 
on which I must insist. You must not interfere, 
come what may. You understand?” 

“ I am to be neutral? ” 

“ To do nothing whatever. There will probably 
be some small unpleasantness. Do not join in it. 
It will end in my being conveyed into the house. 
Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room 
window will open. You are to station yourself close 
to that open window.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You are to watch me, for I will be visible to 
you.” 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


79 


“ Yes.” 

“ And when I raise my hand — so — you will 
throw into the room what I give you to throw, and 
will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You 
quite follow me? ” 

“ Entirely.” 

“ It is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking 
a long cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. “ It is 
an ordinary plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted with a 
cap at either end, to make it self-lighting. Your 
task is confined to that. When you raise your cry 
of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of 
people. You may then walk to the end of the street, 
and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I 
have made myself clear? ” 

“ I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, 
to watch you, and, at the signal, to throw in this 
object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to wait for 
you at the corner of the street.” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ Then you may entirely rely on me.” 

“ That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is al¬ 
most time that I prepared for the new role I have 
to play.” 

He disappeared into his bedroom, and returned 
in a few minutes in the character of an amiable 
and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His 
broad, black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, 
his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering 
and benevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John 
Hare alone could have equaled. It was not merely 


80 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, 
his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every 
fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine 
actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when 
he became a specialist in crime. 

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker 
Street, and it still wanted ten minutes to the hour 
when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It 
was already dusk, and the lamps were just being 
lighted as we paced up and down in front of Briony 
Lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. The 
house was just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock 
Holmes’s succinct description, but the locality ap¬ 
peared to be less private than I expected. On the 
contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighborhood, 
it is remarkably animated. There was a group of 
shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a 
corner, a scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guards¬ 
men who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and several 
well-dressed young men who were lounging up and 
down with cigars in their mouths. 

“ You see,” remarked Holmes, as we paced to 
and fro in front of the house, “ this marriage rather 
simplifies matters. The photograph becomes a 
double-edged weapon now. The chances are that 
she would be as averse to its being seen by Mr. God¬ 
frey Norton as our client is to its coming to the eyes 
of his princess. Now the question is — where are 
we to find the photograph?” 

“Where, indeed?” 

“ It is most unlikely that she carries it about with 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


81 


her. It is cabinet size. Too large for easy con¬ 
cealment about a woman’s dress. She knows that 
the king is capable of having her waylaid and 
searched. Two attempts of the sort have already 
been made. We may take it, then, that she does not 
carry it about with her.” 

“Where, then?” 

“ Her banker or her lawyer. There is that 
double possibility. But I am inclined to think 
neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they 
like to do their own secreting. Why should she 
hand it over to any one else? She could trust her 
own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect 
or political influence might be brought to bear upon 
a business man. Besides, remember that she had 
resolved to use it within a few days. It must be 
where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be 
in her own house.” 

“ But it has twice been burglarized.” 

“ Pshaw! They did not know how to look.” 

“ But how will you look? ” 

“ I will not look.” 

“What then?” 

“ I will get her to show me.” 

“ But she will refuse.” 

“ She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble 
of wheels. It is her carriage. Now carry out my 
orders to the letter.” 

As he spoke, the gleam of the side-lights of a 
carriage came round the curve of the avenue. It 
was a smart little landau which rattled up to the 


82 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up one of the 
loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the 
door in the hope of earning a copper, but was el¬ 
bowed away by another loafer who had rushed up 
with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke 
out which was increased by the two guardsmen, who 
took sides with one of the loungers, and by the 
scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other 
side. A blow was struck, and in an instant the lady, 
who had stepped from her carriage, was the center 
of a little knot of struggling men who struck savagely 
at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes 
dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but, just 
as he reached her, he gave a cry and dropped to the 
ground, with the blood running freely down his face. 
At his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one 
direction and the loungers in the other, while a 
number of better dressed people who had watched 
the scuffle without taking part in it crowded in to 
help the lady and to attend to the injured man. 
Irene Adler, as I will still call her, had hurried up 
the steps; but she stood at the top, with her superb 
'figure outlined against the lights of the hall, look¬ 
ing back into the street. 

“ Is the poor gentleman much hurt? ” she asked. 

“ He is dead,” cried several voices. 

“ No, no, there’s life in him,” shouted another. 
“ But he’ll be gone before you can get him to the 
hospital.” 

“ He’s a brave fellow,” said a woman. “ They 
would have had the lady’s purse and watch if it 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


83 


hadn’t been for him. They were a gang, and a 
rough one, too. Ah! he’s breathing now.” 

“ He can’t lie in the street. May we bring him 
in, marm? ” 

“ Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. 
There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please.” 
Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge, 
and laid out in the principal room, while I still ob¬ 
served the proceedings from my post by the window. 
The lamps had been lighted, but the blinds had not 
been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay 
upon the couch. I do not know whether he was 
seized with compunction at that moment for the part 
he was playing, but I know that I never felt more 
heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when 
I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was 
conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which 
she waited upon the injured man. And yet it would 
be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back 
now from the part which he had intrusted to me. 
I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket 
from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are 
not injuring her. We are but preventing her from 
injuring another. 

Holmes had sat upon the couch, and I saw him 
motion like a man who is in need of air. A maid 
rushed across and threw open the window. At the 
same instant I saw him raise his hand, and at the 
signal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of 
“ Fire! ” The word no sooner out of my mouth 
than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and 


84 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

ill — gentlemen, hostlers, and servant-maids — 
joined in a general shriek of “ Fire! ” Thick clouds 
of smoke curled through the room, and out at the 
open window. I caught a glimpse of rushing 
figures, and a moment later the voice of Holmes 
from within assuring them that it was a false alarm. 
Slipping through the shouting crowd, I made my way 
to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was 
rejoiced to find my friend’s arm in mine, and to get 
away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly 
and in silence for some few minutes, until we had 
turned down one of the quiet streets which led 
towards the Edgeware Road. 

“ You did it very nicely, doctor,” he remarked. 
“ Nothing could have been better. It is all right.” 

“ You have the photograph? ” 

“ I know where it is.” 

“ And how did you find out? ” 

“ She showed me, as I told you that she would.” 

“ I am still in the dark.” 

“ I do not wish to make a mystery,” said he, 
laughing. “ The matter was perfectly simple. 
You, of course, saw that every one in the street was 
an accomplice. They were all engaged for the even¬ 
ing.” 

“ I guessed as much.” 

“ Then, when the row broke out, I had a little 
moist red paint in the palm of my hand. I rushed 
forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face, and 
became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick.” 

“ That also I could fathom.” 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


85 


u Then they carried me in. She was bound to 
have me in. What else could she do? And into 
her sitting-room, which was the very room which I 
suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, 
and I was determined to see which. They laid me 
on a couch, I motioned for air, they were compelled 
to open the window, and you had your chance.” 

“ How did that help you? ” 
u It is all-important. When a woman thinks that 
her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to 
the thing which she values most. It is a perfectly 
overpowering impulse, and I have more than once 
taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darling¬ 
ton Substitution Scandal it was of use to me, and 
also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married 
woman grabs at her baby — an unmarried one 
reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me 
that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more 
precious to her than what we are in quest of. She 
would rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was ad¬ 
mirably done. The smoke and shouting were 
enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beau¬ 
tifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a slid¬ 
ing panel just above the right bell-pull. She was there 
in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she drew 
it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, 
she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from 
the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, 
and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I 
hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photo¬ 
graph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as 


86 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


he was watching me narrowly, it seemed safer to 
wait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all.” 

“And now?” I asked. 

“ Our quest is practically finished. I shall call 
with the king to-morrow, and with you, if you care 
to come with us. We will be shown into the sitting- 
room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that 
when she comes she may find neither us nor the photo¬ 
graph. It might be a satisfaction to his majesty to 
regain it with his own hands.” 

“ And when will you call? ” 

“ At eight in the morning. She will not be up, 
so that we shall have a clear field. Besides, we must 
be prompt, for this marriage may mean a complete 
change in her life and habits. I must wire to the 
king without delay.” 

We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at 
the door. He was searching his pockets for the key, 
when some one passing said: 

“ Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes.” 

There were several people on the pavement at the 
time, but the greeting appeared to come from a slim 
youth in an ulster who had hurried by. 

“ I’ve heard the voice before,” said Holmes, star¬ 
ing down the dimly lighted street. “ Now, I won¬ 
der who the deuce that could have been? ” 

I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were 
engaged upon our toast and coffee in the morning, 
when the King of Bohemia rushed into the room. 

“You have really got it?” he cried, grasping 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


87 


Sherlock Holmes by either shoulder, and looking 
eagerly into his face. 

“ Not yet.” 

“ But you have hopes? ” 

“ I have hopes.” 

“ Then come. I am all impatience to be gone.” 

44 We must have a cab.” 

“ No, my brougham is waiting.” 

44 Then that will simplify matters.” We de¬ 
scended, and started off once more for Briony Lodge. 

“ Irene Adler is married,” remarked Holmes. 

44 Married! When?” 

44 Yesterday.” 

44 But to whom? ” 

44 To an English lawyer named Norton.” 

44 But she could not love him.” 

44 1 am in hopes that she does.” 

44 And why in hopes? ” 

44 Because it would spare your majesty all fear of 
future annoyance. If the lady loves her husband, 
she does not love your majesty. If she does not 
love your majesty, there is no reason why she should 
interfere with your majesty’s plan.” 

44 It is true. And yet- Well, I wish she had 

been of my own station. What a queen she would 
have made! ” He relapsed into a moody silence, 
which was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine 
Avenue. 

The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an 
elderly woman stood upon the steps. She watched 
us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the 
brougham. 



88 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe? ” said she. 

“ I am Mr. Holmes,” answered my companion, 
looking at her with a questioning and rather startled 
gaze. 

“ Indeed! My mistress told me that you were 
likely to call. She left this morning, with her hus¬ 
band, by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross, for the 
Continent.” 

“ What! ” Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white 
with chagrin and surprise. 

“ Do you mean that she has left England? ” 

“ Never to return.” 

“And the papers?” asked the king, hoarsely. 
“All is lost!” 

“ We shall see.” He pushed past the servant, and 
rushed into the drawing-room, followed by the king 
and myself. The furniture was scattered about in 
every direction, with dismantled shelves, and open 
drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them 
before her flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, 
tore back a small sliding shutter, and plunging in his 
hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The 
photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening 
dress; the letter was superscribed to “ Sherlock 
Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for.” My 
friend tore it open, and we all three read it together. 
It was dated at midnight of the preceding night, and 
ran in this way: 

“ My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, — You really did it 
very well. You took me in completely. Until after the 


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


89 


alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when I 
found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I had 
been warned against you months ago. I had been told that 
if the king employed an agent, it would certainly be you. 
And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this, 
you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after 
I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a 
dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have been 
trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new 
to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it 
gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran up¬ 
stairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them and came 
down just as you departed. 

“ Well, I followed you to the door, and so made sure that 
I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished 
you good-night, and started for the Temple to see my hus¬ 
band. 

“ We both thought the best resource was flight, when 
pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the 
nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, 
your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a 
better man than he. The king may do what he will without 
hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep 
it only to safeguard myself, and preserve a weapon which 
will always secure me from any steps which he might take 
in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care 
to possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, very 
truly yours, 

“ Irene Norton, nee Adler.” 

“What a woman — oh, what a woman!” cried 
the King of Bohemia, when we had all three read 


90 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


this epistle. u Did I not tell you how quick and 
resolute she was? Would she not have made an 
admirable queen? Is it not a pity that she was not 
on my level? ” 

“ From what I have seen of the lady, she seems, 
indeed, to be on a very different level to your 
majesty,” said Holmes, coldly. “ I am sorry that I 
have not been able to bring your majesty’s business to 
a more successful conclusion.” 

“ On the contrary, my dear sir,” cried the king, 
“ nothing could be more successful. I know that 
her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as 
if it were in the fire.” 

“ I am glad to hear your majesty say so.” 

“ I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me 

in what way I can reward you. This ring-” 

He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger, 
and held it out upon the palm of his hand. 

“ Your majesty has something which I should 
value even more highly,” said Holmes. 

“ You have but to name it.” 

“ This photograph! ” 

The king stared at him in amazement. 

“ Irene’s photograph! ” he cried. “ Certainly, if 
you wish it.” 

“ I thank your majesty. Then there is no more 
to be done in the matter. I have the honor to wish 
you a very good-morning.” He bowed, and turn¬ 
ing away without observing the hand which the king 
had stretched out to him, he set off in my company 
for his chambers. 



A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 


91 


And that was how a great scandal threatened to 
affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best 
plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a 
woman’s wit. He used to make merry over the 
cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it 
of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or 
when he refers to her photograph, it is always under 
the honorable title of the woman. 















THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM 
CABS 

By Robert Louis Stevenson 

Lieutenant Brackrnbury Rich had greatly dis¬ 
tinguished himself in one of the lesser Indian hill 
wars. He it was who took the chieftain prisoner 
with his own hand; his gallantry was universally 
applauded; and when he came home, prostrated by 
an ugly saber-cut and a protracted jungle fever, so¬ 
ciety was prepared to welcome the lieutenant as a 
celebrity of minor luster. But his was a character 
remarkable for unaffected modesty; adventure was 
dear to his heart, but he cared little for adulation; 
and he waited at foreign watering-places and in 
Algiers until the fame of his exploits had run 
through its nine days’ vitality and begun to be for¬ 
gotten. He arrived in London at last, in the early 
season, with as little observation as he could desire; 
and as he was an orphan and had none but distant 
relatives who lived in the provinces, it was almost 
as a foreigner that he installed himself in the capital 
of the country for which he had shed his blood. 

On the day following his arrival he dined alone 
at a military club. He shook hands with a few 
old comrades, and received their warm congratula- 
Frora “ New Arabian Nights.” 


93 


94 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


tions; but as one and all had some engagement for 
the evening, he found himself left entirely to his 
own resources. He was in dress, for he had enter¬ 
tained the notion of visiting a theater. But the 
great city was new to him; he had gone from a pro¬ 
vincial school to a military college, and thence direct 
to the Eastern Empire; and he promised himself 
a variety of delights in this world for exploration. 
Swinging his cane, he took his way westward. It 
was a mild evening, already dark, and now and then 
threatening rain. The succession of faces in the 
lamp-light stirred the lieutenant’s imagination; and 
it seemed to him as if he could walk forever in that 
stimulating city atmosphere and surrounded by the 
mystery of four million private lives. He glanced 
at the houses, and marveled what was passing be¬ 
hind those warmly lighted windows; he looked into 
face after face, and saw them each intent upon some 
unknown interest, criminal or kindly. 

“ They talk of war,” he thought, “ but this is the 
great battle-field of mankind.” 

And then he began to wonder that he should walk 
so long in this complicated scene, and not chance 
upon so much as the shadow of an adventure for 
himself. 

“ All in good time,” he reflected. “ I am still a 
stranger, and perhaps wear a strange air. But I 
must be drawn into the eddy before long.” 

The night was already well advanced when a 
plump of cold rain fell suddenly out of the darkness. 
Brackenbury paused under some trees, and as he 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 95 

did so he caught sight of a hansom cabman making 
him a sign that he was disengaged. The circum¬ 
stance fell in so happily to the occasion that he at 
once raised his cane in answer, and had soon en¬ 
sconced himself in the London gondola. 

“Where to, sir?” asked the driver. 

“ Where you please,” said Brackenbury. 

And immediately, at a pace of surprising swift¬ 
ness, the hansom drove off through the rain into a 
maze of villas. One villa was so like another, each 
with its front garden, and there was so little to 
distinguish the deserted lamp-lit streets and crescents 
through which the flying hansom took its way, that 
Brackenbury soon lost all idea of direction. He 
would have been tempted to believe that the cabman 
was amusing himself by driving him round and round 
and in and out about a small quarter, but there was 
something business-like in the speed which convinced 
him of the contrary. The man had an object in 
view, he was hastening toward a definite end; and 
Brackenbury was at once astonished at the fellow’s 
skill in picking a way through such a labyrinth, and 
a little concerned to imagine what was the occasion 
of his hurry. He had heard tales of strangers fall¬ 
ing ill in London. Did the driver belong to some 
bloody and treacherous association? and was he him¬ 
self being whirled to a murderous death? 

The thought had scarcely presented itself, when 
the cab swung sharply round a corner and pulled 
up before the garden-gate of a villa in a long and 
wide road. The house was brilliantly lighted up. 


96 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Another hansom had just driven away, and Bracken- 
bury could see a gentleman being admitted at the 
front door and received by several liveried servants. 
He was surprised that the cabman should have 
stopped so immediately in front of a house where 
a reception was being held; but he did not doubt it 
was the result.of accident, and sat placidly smoking 
where he was, until he heard the trap thrown open 
over his head. 

“ Here we are, sir,” said the driver. 

“ Here! ” repeated Brackenbury. “ Where? ” 

“ You told me to take you where I pleased, sir,” 
returned the man with a chuckle, “ and here we are.” 

It struck Brackenbury that the voice was wonder¬ 
fully smooth and courteous for a man in so inferior 
a position; he remembered the speed at which he had 
been driven; and now it occurred to him that the 
hansom was more luxuriously appointed than the 
common run of public conveyances. 

“ I must ask you to explain,” said he. “ Do you 
mean to turn me out into the rain? My good man, 
I suspect the choice is mine.” 

“ The choice is certainly yours,” replied the 
driver; “but when I tell you all, I believe I know 
how a gentleman of your figure will decide. There 
is a gentleman’s party in this house. I do not know 
whether the master be a stranger to London and 
without acquaintances of his own; or whether he is 
a man of odd notions. But certainly I was hired to 
kidnap single gentlemen in evening dress, as many 
as I pleased, but military officers by preference. 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 97 


You have simply to go in and say that Mr. Morris 
invited you.” 

“ Are you Mr. Morris? ” inquired the lieutenant. 

“ Oh, no,” replied the cabman. “ Mr. Morris 
is the person of the house.” 

“ It is not a common way of collecting guests,” 
said Brackenbury; “ but an eccentric man might very 
well indulge the whim without any intention to of¬ 
fend. And suppose that I refuse Mr. Morris’s 
invitation,” he went on, “what then?” 

“ My orders are to drive you back where I took 
you from,” replied the man, “ and set out to look 
for others up to midnight. Those who have no 
fancy for such an adventure, Mr. Morris said, were 
not the guests for him.” 

These words decided the lieutenant on the spot. 

“ After all,” he reflected, as he descended from 
the hansom, “ I have not had long to wait for my 
adventure.” ft 

He had hardly found footing on the sidewalk, and 
was still feeling in his pocket for the fare, when the 
cab swung about and drove off by the way it came 
at the former breakneck velocity. Brackenbury 
shouted after the man, who paid no heed, and con¬ 
tinued to drive away; but the sound of his voice was 
overheard in the house, the door was again thrown 
open, emitting a flood of light upon the garden, and 
a servant ran down to meet him holding an um¬ 
brella. 

“ The cabman has been paid,” observed the serv¬ 
ant in a very civil tone; and he proceeded to escort 


98 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Brackenbury along the path and up the steps. In the 
hall several other attendants relieved him of his hat, 
cane, and paletot, gave him a ticket with a number 
in return, and politely hurried him up a stair adorned 
with tropical flowers, to the door of an apartment 
on the first story. Here a grave butler inquired 
his name, and announcing “ Lieutenant Brackenbury 
Rich,” ushered him into the drawing-room of the 
house. 

A young man, slender and singularly handsome, 
came forward and greeted him with an air at once 
courtly and affectionate. Hundreds of candles, of 
the finest wax, lighted up a room that was perfumed, 
like the staircase, with a profusion of rare and beau¬ 
tiful flowering shrubs. A side-table was loaded with 
tempting viands. Several servants went to and fro 
with fruits and goblets of champagne. The com¬ 
pany was perhaps sixteen in number, all men, few 
beyond the prime of life, and, with hardly an ex¬ 
ception, of a dashing and capable exterior. They 
were divided into two groups, one about a roulette 
board, and the other surrounding a table at which 
one of their number held a bank of baccarat. 

“ I see,” thought Brackenbury, “ I am in a private 
gambling saloon, and the cabman was a tout.” 

His eye had embraced the details, and his mind 
formed the conclusion, while his host was still hold¬ 
ing him by the hand; and to him his looks returned 
from this rapid survey. At a second view Mr. 
Morris surprised him still more than on the first. 
The easy elegance of his manners, the distinction, 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 99 

amiability, and courage that appeared upon his fea¬ 
tures, fitted very ill with the lieutenant’s preconcep¬ 
tions on the subject of the proprietor of a hell; and 
the tone of his conversation seemed to mark him 
out for a man of position and merit. Brackenbury 
found he had an instinctive liking for his entertainer; 
and though he chid himself for the weakness, he 
was unable to resist a sort of friendly attraction for 
Mr. Morris’s person and character. 

“ I have heard of you, Lieutenant Rich,” said Mr. 
Morris, lowering his tone; “ and believe me I am 
gratified to make your acquaintance. Your looks ac¬ 
cord with the reputation that has preceded you from 
India. And if you will forget for awhile the irregu¬ 
larity of your presentation in my house, I shall feel 
it not only an honor, but a genuine pleasure besides. 
A man who makes a mouthful of barbarian cava¬ 
liers,” he added with a laugh, “ should not be ap¬ 
palled by a breach of etiquette, however serious.” 

And he led him toward the sideboard and pressed 
him to partake of some refreshment. 

“ Upon my word,” the lieutenant reflected, “ this 
is one of the pleasantest fellows, and, I do not doubt, 
one of the most agreeable societies in London.” 

He partook of some champagne, which he found 
excellent; and observing that many of the company 
were already smoking, he lighted one of his own 
Manillas, and strolled up to the roulette board, where 
he sometimes made a stake and sometimes looked on 
smilingly on the fortune of others. It was while he 
was thus idling that he became aware of a sharp 


1CXT FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

scrutiny to which the whole of the guests were sub¬ 
jected. Mr. Morris went here and there, ostensi¬ 
bly busied on hospitable concerns; but he had ever 
a shrewd glance at disposal; not a man of the party 
escaped his sudden, searching looks; he took stock of 
the bearing of heavy losers, he valued the amount 
of the stakes, he paused behind couples who were 
deep in conversation; and, in a word, there was 
hardly a characteristic of any one present but he 
seemed to catch and make a note of it. Bracken- 
bury began to wonder if this were indeed a gambling 
hell; it had so much the air of a private inquisition. 
He followed Mr. Morris in all his movements; and 
although the man had a ready smile, he seemed to 
perceive, as it were under a mask, a haggard, care¬ 
worn, and preoccupied spirit. The fellows around 
him laughed and made their game; but Brackenbury 
had lost interest in the guests. 

“ This Morris,” thought he, “ is no idler in the 
room. Some deep purpose inspires him; let it be 
mine to fathom it.” 

Now and then Mr. Morris would call one of his 
visitors aside; and after a brief colloquy in an ante¬ 
room, he would return alone, and the visitors in ques¬ 
tion reappeared no more. After a certain number 
of repetitions, this performance excited Bracken- 
bury’s curiosity to a high degree. He determined 
to be at the bottom of this minor mystery at once; 
and strolling into the anteroom, found a deep win¬ 
dow recess concealed by curtains of the fashionable 
green. Here he hurriedly ensconced himself; nor 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 101 

had he to wait long before the sound of steps and 
voices drew near him from the principal apartment. 
Peering through the division, he saw Mr. Morris es¬ 
corting a fat and ruddy personage, with somewhat 
the look of a commerical traveler, whom Bracken- 
bury had already remarked for his coarse laugh and 
under-bred behavior at the table. The pair halted 
immediately before the window, so that Brackenbury 
lost not a word of the following discourse: 

“I beg you a thousand pardons!” began Mr. 
Morris, with the most conciliatory manner; “ and, 
if I appear rude, I am sure you will readily forgive 
me. In a place so great as London accidents must 
continually happen; and the best that we can hope 
is to remedy them with as small delay as possible. 
I will not deny that I fear you have made a mis¬ 
take and honored my poor house by inadvertence; 
for, to speak openly, I can not at all remember your 
appearance. Let me put the question without un¬ 
necessary circumlocution — between gentlemen of 
honor a word will suffice — Under whose roof do 
you suppose yourself to be? ” 

“ That of Mr. Morris,” replied the other, with 
a prodigious display of confusion, which had been 
visibly growing upon him throughout the last few 
words. 

“ Mr. John or Mr. James Morris? ” inquired the 
host. 

“ I really can not tell you,” returned the unfortu¬ 
nate guest. “ I am not personally acquainted with 
the gentleman, any more than I am with yourself.” 


102 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ I see,” said Mr. Morris. “ There is another 
person of the same name further down the street; 
and I have no doubt the policeman will be able to 
supply you with his number. Believe me, I felicitate 
myself on the misunderstanding which has procured 
me the pleasure of your company for so long; and 
let me express a hope that we may meet again upon 
a more regular footing. Meantime, I would not 
for all the world detain you longer from your 
friends. John,” he added, raising his voice, “ will 
you see that this gentleman finds his great coat?” 

And with the most agreeable air Mr. Morris es¬ 
corted his visitor as far as the anteroom door, where 
he left him under conduct of the butler. As he 
passed the window, on his return to the drawing¬ 
room, Brackenbury could hear him utter a profound 
sigh, as though his mind was loaded with a great 
anxiety, and his nerves already fatigued with the 
task on which he was engaged. 

For perhaps an hour the hansoms kept arriving 
with such frequency, that Mr. Morris had to receive 
a new guest for every old one that he sent away, 
and the company preserved its number undiminished. 
But toward the end of that time the arrivals grew 
few and far between, and at length ceased entirely, 
while the process of elimination was continued with 
unimpaired activity. The drawing-room began to 
look empty; the baccarat was discontinued for lack 
of a banker; more than one person said good-night 
of his own accord, and was suffered to depart with¬ 
out expostulation; and in the meanwhile Mr. Morris 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 103 

redoubled in agreeable attentions to those who 
stayed behind. He went from group to group and 
from person to person with looks of the readiest 
sympathy, and the most pertinent and pleasing talk; 
he was not so much like a host as like a hostess, and 
there was a feminine coquetry and condescension in 
his manner which charmed the hearts of all. 

As the guests grew thinner, Lieutenant Rich 
strolled for a moment out of the drawing-room into 
the hall in quest of fresher air. But he had no 
sooner passed the threshold of the ante-chamber than 
he was brought to a dead halt by a discovery of the 
most surprising nature. The flowering shrubs had 
disappeared from the staircase; three large furni¬ 
ture-wagons stood before the garden gate; the serv¬ 
ants were busy dismantling the house upon all sides; 
and some of them had already donned their great¬ 
coats and were preparing to depart. It was like 
the end of a country ball, where everything has been 
supplied by contract. Brackenbury had indeed some 
matter for reflection. First, the guests, who were 
no real guests after all, had been dismissed, and now 
the servants, who could hardly be genuine servants, 
were actively dispersing. 

“ Was the whole establishment a sham? ” he asked 
himself. “ The mushroom of a single night which 
should disappear before morning? ” 

Watching a favorable opportunity, Brackenbury 
dashed upstairs to the higher regions of the house. 
It was as he had expected. He ran from room to 
room, and saw not a stick of furniture nor so much 


104 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


as a picture on the walls. Altogether the house had 
been painted and papered, it was not only uninhab¬ 
ited at present, but plainly had never been inhabited 
at all. The young officer remembered with aston¬ 
ishment its spacious, settled, and hospitable air on 
his arrival. It was only at a prodigious cost that 
the imposture could have been carried out upon so 
great a scale. 

Who, then, was Mr. Morris? What was his in¬ 
tention in thus playing the householder for a single 
night in the remote west of London? And why did 
he collect his visitors at hazard from the streets? 

Brackenbury remembered that he had already de¬ 
layed too long, and hastened to join the company. 
Many had left during his absence; and counting the 
lieutenant and his host, there were not more than five 
persons in the drawing-room — recently so thronged. 
Mr. Morris greeted him, as he reentered the apart¬ 
ment, with a smile, and immediately rose to his feet. 

“ It is now time, gentlemen,” said he, “ to explain 
my purpose in decoying you from your amusements. 
I trust you did not find the evening hang very dully 
on your hands; but my object, I will confess it, was 
not to entertain your leisure, but to help myself in 
an unfortunate necessity. You are all gentlemen,” 
he continued, “ your appearance does you that much 
justice, and I ask for no better security. Hence I 
speak it without concealment. I ask you to render 
me a dangerous and delicate service; dangerous be¬ 
cause you may run the hazard of your lives, and 
delicate because I must ask an absolute discretion 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 105 

upon all that you shall see or hear. From an utter 
stranger the request is almost comically extravagant; 
I am well aware of this; and I would add at once, 
if there be any one present who has heard enough, 
if there be one among the party who recoils from 
a dangerous confidence and a piece of quixotic de¬ 
votion to he knows not whom — here is my hand 
ready, and I shall wish him good-night and God¬ 
speed with all the sincerity in the world.” 

A very tall, black man, with a heavy stoop, im¬ 
mediately responded to this appeal. 

“ I commend your frankness, sir,” said he; “ and, 
for my part, I go. I make no reflections; but I 
can not deny that you fill me with suspicious thoughts. 
I go myself, as I say; and perhaps you will think 
I have no right to add words to my example.” 

“ On the contrary,” replied Mr. Morris, “ I am 
obliged to you for all you say. It would be impos¬ 
sible to exaggerate the gravity of my proposal.” 

“Well, gentlemen, what do you say?” said the 
tall man, addressing the others. “ We have had 
our evening’s frolic; shall we all go homeward peace¬ 
ably in a body? You will think well of my sugges¬ 
tion in the morning when you see the sun again in 
innocence and safety.” 

The speaker pronounced the last words with an 
intonation which added to their force; and his face 
wore a singular expression, full of gravity and signifi¬ 
cance. Another of the company rose hastily, and, 
with some appearance of alarm, prepared to take 
his leave. There were only two who held their 


106 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


ground, Brackenbury and an old red-nosed cavalry 
major; but these two preserved a nonchalant de¬ 
meanor, and, beyond a look of intelligence which 
they rapidly exchanged, appeared entirely foreign 
to the discussion that had just been terminated. 

Mr. Morris conducted the deserters as far as the 
door, which he closed upon their heels; then he 
turned round, disclosing a countenance of mingled 
relief and animation, and addressed the two officers 
as follows: 

“ I have chosen my men like Joshua in the Bible,” 
said Mr. Morris, “ and I now believe I have the 
pick of London. Your appearance pleased my han¬ 
som cabmen; then it delighted me; I have watched 
your behavior in a strange company, and under the 
most unusual circumstances; I have studied how you 
played and how you bore your losses; lastly, I have 
put you to the test of a staggering announcement, 
and you received it like an invitation to dinner. It 
is not for nothing,” he cried, “ that I have been for 
years the companion and the pupil of the bravest and 
wisest potentate in Europe.” 

“ At the affair of Bunderchang,” observed the 
major, “ I asked for twelve volunteers, and every 
trooper in the ranks replied to my appeal. But a 
gaming-party is not the same thing as a regiment 
under fire. You may be pleased, I suppose, to have 
found two, and two who will not fail you at a push. 
As for the pair who ran away, I count them among 
the most pitiful hounds I ever met with. Lieutenant 
Rich,” he added, addressing Brackenbury, “ I have 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 107 

heard much of you of late; and I can not doubt but 
you have also heard of me. I am Major O’Rooke.” 

And the veteran tendered his hand, which was red 
and tremulous, to the young lieutenant. 

“ Who has not? ” answered Brackenbury. 

“ When this little matter is settled,” said Mr. 
Morris, “ you will think I have sufficiently rewarded 
you; for I could offer neither a more valuable service 
than to make him acquainted with the other.” 

“ And now,” said Major O’Rooke, “ it is a duel? ” 

“ A duel after a fashion,” replied Mr. Morris, “ a 
duel with unknown and dangerous enemies, and, as 
I gravely fear, a duel to the death. I must ask you,” 
he continued, “ to call me Morris no longer; call me, 
if you please, Hammersmith; my real name, as well 
as that of another person to whom I hope to present 
you before long, you will gratify me by not asking 
and not seeking to discover for themselves. Three 
days ago the person of whom I speak disappeared 
suddenly from home; and, until this morning, I re¬ 
ceived no hint of his situation. You will fancy my 
alarm when I tell you that he is engaged upon a work 
of private justice. Bound by an unhappy oath, too 
lightly sworn, he finds it necessary, without the help 
of law, to rid the earth of an insidious and bloody 
villain. Already two of our friends, and one of 
them my own born brother, have perished in the 
enterprise. He himself, or I am much deceived, is 
taken in the same fatal toils. But at least he still 
lives and still hopes, as this billet sufficiently proves.” 

And the speaker proffered a letter, thus conceived. 


108 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Major Hammersmith, — On Wednesday, at 3 a. m., 
you will be admitted by the small door to the gardens of 
Rochester House, Regent’s Park, by a man who is entirely 
in my interest. I must request you not to fail me by a 
second. Pray bring my case of swords, and, if you can find 
them, one or two gentlemen of conduct and discretion to 
whom my person is unknown. My name must not be used 
in this affair. 

"T. Godall." 

“ From his wisdom alone, if he had no other title,” 
pursued Colonel Geraldine, when the others had 
each satisfied his curiosity, “ my friend is a man 
whose directions should implicitly be followed. I 
need not tell you, therefore, that I have not so much 
as visited the neighborhood of Rochester House; 
and that I am still as wholly in the dark as either 
of yourselves as to the nature of my friend’s di¬ 
lemma. I betook myself, as soon as I had received 
this order, to a furnishing contractor, and, in a few 
hours, the house in which we now are had assumed its 
later air of festival. My scheme was at least 
original; and I am far from regretting an action 
w r hich has procured me the services of Major 
O’Rooke and Lieutenant Brackenbury Rich. But 
the residents in the street will have a strange awaken¬ 
ing. The house which this evening was full of lights 
and visitors they will find uninhabited and for sale 
to-morrow morning. Thus even the most serious 
concerns,” added the colonel, “ have a merry side.” 

“ And let us add a merry ending,” said Bracken¬ 
bury. 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 109 

The colonel consulted his watch. 

“ It is now hard on two,” he said. “ We have an 
hour before us, and a swift cab is at the door. Tell 
me if I may count upon your help.” 

“ During a long life,” replied Major O’Rooke, 
“ I never took back my hand from anything, nor 
so much as hedged a bet.” 

Brackenbury signified his readiness in the most be¬ 
coming terms; and after they had drunk a glass or 
two of wine, the colonel gave each of them a loaded 
revolver, and the three mounted into the cab and 
drove off for the address in question. 

Rochester House was a magnificent residence on 
the banks of the canal. The large extent of the gar¬ 
den isolated it in an unusual degree from the an¬ 
noyances of the neighborhood. It seemed the pare 
aux cerfs of some great nobleman or millionaire. 
As far as could be seen from the street, there was 
not a glimmer of light in any of the numerous win¬ 
dows of the mansion; and the place had a look of 
neglect, as though the master had long been from 
home. 

The cab was discharged, and the three gentlemen 
were not long in discovering the small door, which 
was a sort of postern in a lane between two garden- 
walls. It still wanted ten or fifteen minutes of the 
appointed time; the rain fell heavily and the adven¬ 
turers sheltered themselves below some pendant ivy, 
and spoke in low tones of the approaching trial. 

Suddenly Geraldine raised his finger to command 
silence, and all three bent their hearing to the utmost. 


110 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

Through the continuous noise of the rain, the steps 
and voices of two men became audible from the 
other side of the wall; and, as they drew nearer, 
Brackenbury, whose sense of hearing was remarkably 
acute, could even distinguish some fragments of their 
talk. 

“ Is the grave dug? ” asked one. 

“It is,” replied the other; “behind the laurel 
hedge. When the job is done, we can cover it with 
a pile of stakes.” 

The first speaker laughed, and the sound of his 
merriment was shocking to the listeners on the other 
side. 

“ In an hour from now,” he said. 

And by the sound of the steps it was obvious that 
the pair had separated, and were proceeding in con¬ 
trary directions. 

Almost immediately after the postern door was 
cautiously opened, a white face was protruded into 
the lane, and a hand was seen beckoning to the 
watchers. In dead silence, the three passed the 
door, which was immediately locked behind them, 
and followed their guide through several garden 
alleys to the kitchen entrance of the house. A sin¬ 
gle candle burned in the great paved kitchen, which 
was destitute of the customary furniture; and as the 
party proceeded to ascend from thence by a flight of 
winding stairs, a prodigious noise of rats testified 
still more plainly to the dilapidation of the house. 

Their conductor preceded them, carrying the 
candle. He was a lean man, much bent, but still 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 111 

agile; and he turned from time to time and admon¬ 
ished silence and caution by his gestures. Colonel 
Geraldine followed on his heels, the case of swords 
under one arm, and a pistol ready in the other. 
Brackenbury’s heart beat thickly. He perceived 
that they were still in time; but he judged from the 
alacrity of the old man that the hour of action must 
be near at hand; and the circumstances of this adven¬ 
ture were so obscure and menacing, the place seemed 
so well chosen for the darkest acts, that an older man 
than Brackenbury might have been pardoned a meas¬ 
ure of emotion as he closed the procession up the 
winding stair. 

At the top the guide threw open a door and 
ushered the three officers before him into a small 
apartment, lighted by a smoky lamp and the glow of 
a modest fire. At the chimney corner sat a man in 
the early prime of life, and of a stout but courtly 
and commanding appearance. His attitude and ex¬ 
pression were those of the most unmoved composure; 
he was smoking a cheroot with much enjoyment and 
deliberation, and on a table by his elbow stood a long 
glass of some effervescing beverage which diffused an 
agreeable odor through the room. 

“ Welcome,” said he, extending his hand to 
Colonel Geraldine. “ I knew I might count on your 
exactitude.” 

“ On my devotion,” replied the colonel, with a 
bow. 

“ Present me to your friends,” continued the first; 
and, when that ceremony had been performed, “ I 


112 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

wish, gentlemen,” he added, with the most exquisite 
affability, “ that I could offer you a more cheerful 
program; it is ungracious to inaugurate an ac¬ 
quaintance upon serious affairs; but the compulsion 
of events is stronger than the obligation of good 
fellowship. I hope and believe you will be able to 
forgive me this unpleasant evening; and for men of 
your stamp it will be enough to know that you are 
conferring a considerable favor.” 

“ Your highness,” said the major, “ must pardon 
my blu-ntness. I am unable to hide what I know. 
For some time back I have suspected Major Ham¬ 
mersmith, but Mr. Godall is unmistakable. To seek 
two men in London unacquainted with Prince 
Florizel of Bohemia was to ask too much of For¬ 
tune’s hands.” 

“ Prince Florizel! ” cried Brackenbury in amaze¬ 
ment. 

And he gazed with the deepest interest on the fea¬ 
tures of the celebrated personage before him. 

“ I shall not lament the loss of my incognito,” re¬ 
marked the prince, “ for it enables me to thank you 
with the more authority. You would have done as 
much for Mr. Godall, I feel sure, as for the Prince 
of Bohemia; but the latter can perhaps do more for 
you. The gain is mine,” he added, with a courteous 
gesture. 

And the next moment he was conversing with the 
two officers about the Indian army and the native 
troops, a subject on which, as on all others, he had 
a remarkable fund of information and the soundest 


views. 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 113 

There was something so striking in this man’s at¬ 
titude at a moment of deadly peril that Brackenbury 
was overcome with respectful admiration; nor was he 
less sensible to the charm of his conversation or the 
surprising amenity of his address. Every gesture, 
every intonation, was not only noble in itself, but 
seemed to ennoble the fortunate mortal for whom it 
was intended; and Brackenbury confessed to himself 
with enthusiasm that this was a sovereign for whom 
a brave man might thankfully lay down his life. 

Many minutes had thus passed, when the person 
who had introduced them into the house, and w.ho 
had sat ever since in a corner, and with his watch in 
his hand, arose and whispered a word into the 
prince’s ear. 

“ It is well, Dr. Noel,” replied Florizel aloud; and 
then addressing the others, “ You will excuse me, 
gentlemen,” he added, “ if I have to leave you in 
the dark. The moment now approaches.” 

Dr. Noel extinguished the lamp. A faint, gray 
light, premonitory of the dawn, illuminated the win¬ 
dow, but was not sufficient to illuminate the room; 
and when the prince rose to his feet, it was impos¬ 
sible to distinguish his features or to make a guess 
at the nature of the emotion which obviously affected 
him as he spoke. He moved toward the door, and 
placed himself at one side of it in an attitude of the 
wariest attention. 

“ You will have the kindness,” he said, “ to main¬ 
tain the strictest silence, and to conceal yourselves 
in the densest of the shadows.” 


114 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


The three officers and the physician hastened to 
obey, and for nearly ten minutes the only sound in 
Rochester House was occasioned by the excursions of 
the rats behind the wood-work. At the end of that 
period, a loud creak of a hinge broke in with sur¬ 
prising distinctness on the silence; and shortly after, 
the watchers could distinguish a low and cautious 
tread approaching up the kitchen stair. At every 
second step the intruder seemed to pause and lend 
an ear, and during these intervals, which seemed of 
an incalculable duration, a profound disquiet pos¬ 
sessed the spirit of the listeners. Dr. Noel, accus¬ 
tomed as he was to dangerous emotions, suffered an 
almost pitiful physical prostration; his breath 
whistled in his lungs, his teeth grated one upon an¬ 
other, and his joints cracked aloud as he nervously 
shifted his position. 

At last a hand was laid upon the door, and a bolt 
shot back with a slight report. There followed an¬ 
other pause, during which Brackenbury could see the 
prince draw himself together noiselessly as if for 
some unusual exertion. Then the door opened, let¬ 
ting in a little more of the light of the morning; and 
the figure of a man appeared upon the threshold and 
stood motionless. He was tall, and carried a knife 
in his hand. Even in the twilight they could see his 
upper teeth bare and glistening, for his mouth was 
open like that of a hound about to leap. The man 
had evidently been over his head in water but a min¬ 
ute or two before; and even while he stood there 
the drops kept falling from his wet clothes and 
pattered on the floor. 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 115 

The next moment he crossed the threshold. 
There was a leap, a stifled cry, an instantaneous 
struggle; and before Colonel Geraldine could spring 
to his aid, the prince held the man, disarmed and 
helpless, by the shoulders. 

“ Dr. Noel,” he said, “ you will be so good as to 
relight the lamp.” 

And relinquishing the charge of his prisoner to 
Geraldine and Brackenbury, he crossed the room and 
set his back against the chimney-piece. As soon as 
the lamp had kindled, the party beheld an unac¬ 
customed sternness on the prince’s features. It was 
no longer Florizel, the careless gentleman; it was the 
Prince of Bohemia, justly incensed and full of deadly 
purpose, who now raised his head and addressed the 
captive president of the Suicide Club. 

“ President,” he said, “ you have laid your last 
snare, and your own feet are taken in it. The day is 
beginning; it is your last morning. You have just 
swum the Regent’s Canal; it is your last bathe in this 
world. Your old accomplice, Dr. Noel, so far from 
betraying me, has delivered you into my hands for 
judgment. And the grave you had dug for me this 
afternoon shall serve, in God’s almighty providence, 
to hide your own just doom from the curiosity of 
mankind. Kneel and pray, sir, if you have a mind 
that way; for your time is short, and God is weary 
of your iniquities.” 

The president made no answer either by word or 
sign; but continued to hang his head and gaze sullenly 
on the floor, as though he were conscious of the 
prince’s prolonged and unsparing regard. 


116 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Gentlemen,” continued Florizel, resuming the or¬ 
dinary tone of his conversation, “ this is a fellow 
who has long eluded me, but whom, thanks to Dr. 
Noel, I now have tightly by the heels. To tell the 
story of his misdeeds would occupy more time than 
we can now afford; but if the canal had contained 
nothing but the blood of his victims, I believe the 
wretch would have been no drier than you see him. 
Even in an affair of this sort I desire to preserve the 
forms of honor. But I make you the judges, gentle¬ 
men— this is more an execution than a duel; and to 
give the rogue his choice of weapons would be to push 
too far a point of etiquette. I can not afford to 
lose my life in such a business,” he continued, un¬ 
locking the case of swords; “ and as a pistol-bullet 
travels so often on the wings of chance, and skill 
and courage may fall by the most trembling marks¬ 
man, I have decided, and I feel sure you will approve 
of my determination, to put this question to the touch 
of swords.” 

When Brackenbury and Major O’Rooke, to whom 
these remarks were particularly addressed, had each 
intimated his approval, “ Quick, sir,” added Prince 
Florizel to the president, “ choose a blade and do 
not keep me waiting; I have an impatience to be 
done with you forever.” 

For the first time since he was captured and dis¬ 
armed the president raised his head, and it was 
plain that he began instantly to pluck up courage. 

“ Is it to be stand up? ” he asked eagerly, “ and 
between you and me? ” 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 117 

“ I mean so far to honor you,” replied the 
prince. 

“ Oh, come! ” cried the president. “ With a fair 
field, who knows how things may happen? I must 
add that I consider it handsome behavior on your 
highness’s part; and if the worst comes to the worst 
I shall die by one of the most gallant gentlemen in 
Europe.” 

And the president, liberated by those who had de¬ 
tained him, stepped up to the table and began, with 
minute attention, to select a sword. He was highly 
elated, and seemed to feel no doubt that he should 
issue victorious from the contest. The spectators 
grew alarmed in the face of so entire a confidence, 
and adjured Prince Florizel to reconsider his inten¬ 
tion. 

“ It is but a farce,” he answered; “ and I think I 
can promise you, gentlemen, that it will not be long 
a-playing.” 

“ Your highness will be careful not to overreach,” 
said Colonel Geraldine. 

“ Geraldine,” returned the prince, “ did you ever 
know me fail in a debt of honor? I owe you this 
man’s death, and you shall have it.” 

The president at last satisfied himself with one of 
the rapiers, and signified his readiness by a gesture 
that was not devoid of a rude nobility. The near¬ 
ness of peril, and the sense of courage, even to this 
obnoxious villain, lent an air of manhood and a cer¬ 
tain grace. 

The prince helped himself at random to a sword. 


118 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Colonel Geraldine and Dr. Noel,” he said, 
“ will have the goodness to await me in this room. 
I wish no personal friend of mine to be involved in 
this transaction. Major O’Rooke, you are a man of 
some years and a settled reputation — let me rec¬ 
ommend the president to your good graces. 
Lieutenant Rich will be so good as to lend me his 
attention: a young man can not have too much ex¬ 
perience in such affairs.” 

“ Your highness,” replied Brackenbury, “ it is an 
honor I shall prize extremely.” 

“It is well,” returned Prince Florizel; “I shall 
hope to stand your friend in more important cir¬ 
cumstances.” 

And so saying he led the way out of the apart¬ 
ment and down the kitchen stairs. 

The two men who were thus left alone threw open 
the window and leaned out, straining every sense to 
catch an indication of the tragical events that were 
about to follow. The rain was now over; day had 
almost come, and the birds were piping in the shrub¬ 
bery and on the forest trees of the garden. The 
prince and his companions were visible for a mo¬ 
ment as they followed an alley between two flowering 
thickets: but at the first corner a clump of foliage in¬ 
tervened, and they were again concealed from view. 
This was all that the colonel and the physician had 
an opportunity to see, and the garden was so vast, 
and the place of combat evidently so remote from 
the house, that not even the noise of sword-play 
reached their ears. 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 119 

“ He has taken him toward the grave,” said Dr. 
Noel, with a shudder. 

“ God,” cried the colonel, “ God defend the 
right! ” 

And they awaited the event in silence, the doctor 
shaking with fear, the colonel in an agony of sweat. 
Many minutes must have elapsed, the day was sen¬ 
sibly broader, and the birds were singing more 
heartily in the garden before a sound of returning 
footsteps recalled their glances toward the door. It 
was the prince and the two Indian officers w r ho en¬ 
tered. God had defended the right. 

“ I am ashamed of my emotion,” said Prince 
Florizel; “ I feel it is a weakness unworthy of my 
station, but the continued existence of that hound of 
hell had begun to prey upon me like a disease, and his 
death has more refreshed me than a night of slum¬ 
ber. Look, Geraldine,” he continued, throwing his 
sword upon the floor, “ there is the blood of the man 
who killed your brother. It should be a welcome 
sight. And yet,” he added, “ see how strangely we 
men are made! My revenge is not yet five minutes 
old, and already I am beginning to ask myself if even 
revenge be attainable on this precarious stage of 
life. The ill he did, who can undo it? The career 
in which he amassed a huge fortune (for the house 
itself in which we stand belonged to him) — that 
career is now a part of the destiny of mankind for¬ 
ever; and I might weary myself making thrusts in 
carte until the crack of judgment, and Geraldine’s 
brother would be none the less dead, and a thousand 


120 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


other innocent persons would be none the less dis¬ 
honored and debauched! The existence of a man is 
so small a thing to take, so mighty a thing to em¬ 
ploy! Alas! ” he cried, “ is there anything in life 
so disenchanting as attainment? ” 

“ God’s justice has been done,” replied the doctor. 
“ So much I behold. The lesson, your highness, has 
been a cruel one for me; and I await my own turn 
with deadly apprehension.” 

“What was I saying?” cried the prince. “I 
have punished, and here is the man beside us who can 
help me to undo. Ah, Dr. Noel! you and I have be¬ 
fore us many a day of hard and honorable toil; and 
perhaps, before we have done, you may have more 
than redeemed your early errors.” 

“ And in the meantime,” said the doctor, “ let me 
go and bury my oldest friend.” 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 
By Sax Rohmer 

Darkness was about us now, and silence: a per¬ 
fumed, slumberous darkness — a silence full of mys¬ 
tery. For, beyond the walls of the apartment 
whereon we looked down waged the unceasing battle 
of sounds that is the hymn of the great industrial 
river. About the scented confines which bounded us 
now floated the smoke-laden vapors of the Lower 
Thames. 

From the metallic but infinitely human clangor of 
dock-side life, from the unpleasant but homely odors 
which prevail where ships swallow in and belch out 
the concrete evidences of commercial prosperity, we 
had come into this incensed stillness, where one 
shaded lamp painted dim enlargements of its Chinese 
silk upon the nearer walls, and left the greater part 
of the room the darker for its contrast. 

Nothing of the Thames-side activity — of the 
riveting and scraping — the bumping of bales — 
the bawling of orders — the hiss of steam — pene¬ 
trated to this perfumed place. In the pool of tinted 
light lay the deathlike figure of a dark-haired boy, 
Karamaneh’s muffled form bending over him. 

From “ The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu,” Copyright, 1913 , by 
McBride, Nast & Co. 


122 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ At last I stand in the house of Dr. Fu-Manchu ! ” 
whispered Smith. 

Despite the girl’s assurance, we knew that prox¬ 
imity to the sinister Chinaman must be fraught with 
danger. We stood, not in the lion’s den, but in the 
serpent’s lair. 

From the time when Nayland Smith had come 
from Burma in pursuit of this advance-guard of a 
cogent Yellow Peril, the face of Dr. Fu-Manchu 
rarely had been absent from my dreams day or night. 
The millions might sleep in peace — the millions in 
whose cause we labored! — but we who knew the 
reality of the danger knew that a veritable octopus 
had fastened upon England — a yellow octopus 
whose head was that of Dr. Fu-Manchu, whose 
tentacles were dacoity, thuggee, modes of death, 
secret and swift, which in the darkness plucked men 
from life and left no clew behind. 

“ Karamaneh! ” I called softly. 

The muffled form beneath the lamp turned so that 
the soft light fell upon the lovely face of the slave 
girl. She who had been a pliant instrument in the 
hands of Fu-Manchu now was to be the means 
whereby society should be rid of him. 

She raised her finger warningly; then beckoned 
me to approach. 

My feet sinking in the rich pile of the carpet, I 
came through the gloom of the great apartment in 
to the patch of light, and, Karamaneh beside me, 
stood looking down upon the boy. It was Aziz, her 
brother; dead so far as Western lore had power to 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 123 

judge, but kept alive in that deathlike trance by the 
uncanny power of the Chinese doctor. 

“ Be quick,” she said; “ be quick! Awaken him! 
I am afraid.” 

From the case which I carried I took out a needle- 
syringe and a phial containing a small quantity of 
amber-hued liquid. It was a drug not to be found in 
the British Pharmacopoeia. Of its constitution I 
knew nothing. Although I had had the phial in my 
possession for some days I had not dared to devote 
any of its precious contents to analytical purposes. 
The amber drops spelled life for the boy Aziz, 
spelled success for the mission of Nayland Smith, 
spelled ruin for the fiendish Chinaman. 

I raised the white coverlet. The boy, fully 
dressed, lay with his arms crossed upon his breast. 
I discerned the mark of previous injections as, charg¬ 
ing the syringe from the phial, I made what I hoped 
would be the last of such experiment upon him. I 
would have given half of my small worldly posses¬ 
sions to have known the real nature of the drug 
which was now coursing through the veins of Aziz 
— which was tinting the grayed face with the olive 
tone of life; which, so far as my medical training 
bore me, was restoring the dead to life. 

But such was not the purpose of my visit. I was 
come to remove from the house of Dr. Fu-Manchu 
the living chain which bound Karamaneh to him. 
The boy alive and free, the Doctor’s hold upon the 
slave girl would be broken. 

My lovely companion, her hands convulsively 


124 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


clasped, knelt and devoured with her eyes the face 
of the boy who was passing through the most amaz¬ 
ing physiological change in the history of therapeu¬ 
tics. The peculiar perfume which she wore — 
which seemed to be a part of her — which always 
I associated with her — was faintly perceptible. 
Karamaneh was breathing rapidly. 

“ You have nothing to fear,” I whispered; “ see, 
he is reviving. In a few moments all will be well 
with him.” 

The hanging lamp with its garishly colored shade 
swung gently above us, wafted, it seemed, by some 
draught which passed through the apartment. The 
boy’s heavy lids began to quiver, and Karamaneh 
nervously clutched my arm, and held me so whilst 
we watched for the long-lashed eyes to open. The 
stillness of the place was positively unnatural; it 
seemed inconceivable that all about us was the dis¬ 
cordant activity of the commercial East End. In¬ 
deed, this eerie silence was becoming oppressive; it 
began positively to appall me. 

Inspector Weymouth’s wondering face peeped 
over my shoulder. 

“Where is Dr. Fu-Manchu?” I whispered, as 
Nayland Smith in turn appeared beside me. “ I 
cannot understand the silence of the house —” 

“ Look about,” replied Karamaneh, never tak¬ 
ing her eyes from the face of Aziz. 

I peered around the shadowy walls. Tall glass 
cases there were, shelves and niches: where once, 
from the gallery above, I had seen the tubes and re- 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 125 

torts, the jars of unfamiliar organisms, the books 
of unfamiliar lore, the impedimenta of the occult 
student and man of science — the visible evidences 
of Fu-Manchu’s presence. Shelves — cases — 
niches — were bare. Of the complicated appliances 
unknown to civilized laboratories, wherewith he 
pursued his strange experiments, of the tubes 
wherein he isolated the bacilli of unclassified diseases, 
of the yellow-bound volumes for a glimpse at which 
(had they known of their contents) the great men 
of Harley Street would have given a fortune — no 
trace remained. The silken cushions; the inlaid 
tables; all were gone. 

The room was stripped, dismantled. Had Fu- 
Manchu fled? The silence assumed a new signifi¬ 
cance. His dacoits and kindred ministers of death 
all must have fled, too. 

“You have let him escape us!” I said rapidly. 
“ You promised to aid us to capture him — to send 
us a message — and you have delayed until —” 

“ No,” she said; “ no! ” and clutched at my arm 
again. “ Oh! is he not reviving slowly? Are you 
sure you have made no mistake? ” 

Her thoughts were all of the boy; and her solici¬ 
tude touched me. I again examined Aziz, the most 
remarkable patient of my busy professional career. 

As I counted the strengthening pulse, he opened 
his dark eyes — which were so like the eyes of 
Karamaneh — and, with the girl’s eager arms tightly 
about him, sat up, looking wonderingly around. 

Karamaneh pressed her cheek to his, whispering 


126 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

loving words in that softly spoken Arabic which had 
first betrayed her nationality to Nayland Smith. I 
handed her my flask, which I had filled with wine. 

“My promise is fulfilled!” I said. “You are 
free! Now for Fu-Manchu ! But first let us admit 
the police to this house; there is something uncanny 
in its stillness.” 

“ No,” she replied. “ First let my brother be 
taken out and placed in safety. Will you carry 
him? ” 

She raised her face to that of Inspector Wey¬ 
mouth, upon which was written awe and wonder. 

The burly detective lifted the boy as tenderly as 
a woman, passed through the shadows to the stair¬ 
way, ascended, and was swallowed up in the gloom. 
Nayland Smith’s eyes gleamed feverishly. He 
turned to Karamaneh. 

“ You are not playing with us? ” he said harshly. 
“ We have done our part; it remains for you to do 
yours.” 

“ Do not speak so loudly,” the girl begged. “ He 
is near us — and, oh, God, I fear him so! ” 

“ Where is he? ” persisted my friend. 

Karamaneh’s eyes were glassy with fear now. 

“ You must not touch him until the police are 
here,” she said — but from the direction of her 
quick, agitated glances I knew that, her brother 
safe now, she feared for me, and for me alone. 
Those glances sent my blood dancing; for Kara¬ 
maneh was an Eastern jewel which any man of 
flesh and blood must have coveted had he known 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 127 

it to lie within his reach. Her eyes were twin lakes 
of mystery which, more than once, I had known the 
desire to explore. 

u Look — beyond that curtain ” — her voice was 
barely audible —“ but do not enter. Even as he is, 
I fear him.” 

Her voice, her palpable agitation, prepared us 
for something extraordinary. Tragedy and Fu- 
Manchu were never far apart. Though we were 
two, and help was so near, we were in the abode 
of the most cunning murderer who ever came out 
of the East. 

It was with strangely mingled emotions that I 
crossed the thick carpet, Nayland Smith beside me, 
and drew aside the draperies concealing a door, to 
which Karamaneh had pointed. Then, upon look¬ 
ing into the dim place beyond, all else save what it 
held was forgotten. 

We looked upon a small, square room, the walls 
draped with fantastic Chinese tapestry, the floor 
strewn with cushions; and reclining in a corner, 
where the faint, blue light from a lamp, placed upon 
a low table, painted grotesque shadows about the 
cavernous face — was Dr. Fu-Manchu! 

At sight of him my heart leaped—and seemed 
to suspend its functions, so intense was the hor¬ 
ror which this man’s presence inspired in me. My 
hand clutching the curtain, I stood watching him. 
The lids veiled the malignant green eyes, but the 
thin lips seemed to smile. Then Smith silently 
pointed to the hand which held a little pipe. A 


123 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

sickly perfume assailed my nostrils, and the explana¬ 
tion of the hushed silence, and the ease with which 
we had thus far executed our plan, came to me. 
The cunning mind was torpid — lost in a brutish 
world of dreams. 

Fu-Manchu was in an opium sleep! 

The dim light traced out a network of tiny lines, 
which covered the yellow face from the pointed chin 
to the top of the great domed brow, and formed 
deep shadow pools in the hollows beneath his eyes. 
At last we had triumphed. 

I could not determine the depth of his obscene 
trance; and mastering some of my repugnance, and 
forgetful of Karamaneh’s warning, I was about to 
step forward into the room, loaded with its nauseat¬ 
ing opium fumes, when a soft breath fanned my 
cheek. 

“Do not go in!” came Karamaneh’s warning 
voice — hushed — trembling. 

Her little hand grasped my arm. She drew 
Smith and myself back from the door. 

“ There is danger there! ” she whispered. “ Do 
not enter that room! The police must reach him 
in some way — and drag him out! Do not enter 
that room! ” 

The girl’s voice quivered hysterically; her eyes 
blazed into savage flame. The fierce resentment 
born of dreadful wrongs was consuming her now; 
but fear of Fu-Manchu held her yet. Inspector 
Weymouth came down the stairs and joined us. 

“ I have sent the boy to Ryman’s room at the 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 129 

station,” he said. “ The divisional surgeon will 
look after him until you arrive, Dr. Petrie. All 
is ready now. The launch is just off the wharf 
and every side of the place is under observation. 
Where’s our man?” 

He drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket 
and raised his eyebrows interrogatively. The ab¬ 
sence of sound — of any demonstration from the 
uncanny Chinaman whom he was there to arrest — 
puzzled him. 

Nayland Smith jerked his thumb toward the cur¬ 
tain. 

At that, and before we could utter a word, Wey¬ 
mouth stepped to the draped door. He was a man 
who drove straight at his goal and saved reflections 
for subsequent leisure. I think, moreover, that the 
atmosphere of the place (stripped as it was it re¬ 
tained its heavy, voluptuous perfume) had begun to 
get a hold upon him. He was anxious to shake 
it off; to be up and doing. 

He pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the 
room. Smith and I perforce followed him. Just 
within the door the three of us stood looking across 
at the limp thing which had spread terror through¬ 
out the Eastern and Western world. Helpless as 
Fu-Manchu was, he inspired terror now, though the 
giant intellect was inert — stupefied. 

In the dimly lit apartment we had quitted I heard 
Karamaneh utter a stifled scream. But it came too 
late. 

As though cast up by a volcano, the silken cush- 


130 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


ions, the inlaid table with its blue-shaded lamp, the 
garish walls, the sprawling figure with the ghastly 
light playing upon its features — quivered, and shot 
upward! 

So it seemed to me; though, in the ensuing instant 
I remembered, too late, a previous experience of the 
floors of Fu-Manchu’s private apartments; I knew 
what had indeed befallen us. A trap had been re¬ 
leased beneath our feet. 

I recall falling — but have no recollection of the 
end of my fall — of the shock marking the drop. 
I only remember fighting for my life against a stifling 
something which had me by the throat. I knew 
that I was being suffocated, but my hands met only 
the deathly emptiness. 

Into a poisonous well of darkness I sank. I could 
not cry out. I was helpless. Of the fate of my 
companions I knew nothing — could surmise noth¬ 
ing. 

Then ... all consciousness ended. 

I was being carried along a dimly lighted, tunnel¬ 
like place, slung, sackwise, across the shoulder of 
a Burman. He was not a big man, but he supported 
my considerable weight with apparent ease. A 
deadly nausea held me, but the rough handling had 
served to restore me to consciousness. My hands 
and feet were closely lashed. I hung limply as a wet 
towel: I felt that this spark of tortured life which 
had flickered up in me must ere long finally become 
extinguished. 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 131 

A fancy possessed me, in these the first moments 
of my restoration to the world of realities, that I 
had been smuggled into China; and as I swung head 
downward I told myself that the huge, puffy things 
which strewed the path were a species of giant toad¬ 
stool, unfamiliar to me and possibly peculiar to 
whatever district of China I now was in. 

The air was hot, steamy, and loaded with a smell 
as of rotting vegetation. I wondered why my bearer 
so scrupulously avoided touching any of the unwhole¬ 
some-looking growths in passing through what 
seemed a succession of cellars, but steered a tortuous 
course among the bloated, unnatural shapes, lifting 
his bare brown feet with a catlike delicacy. 

He passed under a low arch, dropped me roughly 
to the ground and ran back. Half stunned, I lay 
watching the agile brown body melt into the dis¬ 
tances of the cellars. Their walls and roof seemed 
to emit a faint, phosphorescent light. 

“ Petrie! ” came a weak voice from somewhere 
ahead. . . . “ Is that you, Petrie? ” 

It was Nayland Smith! 

“ Smith! ” I said, and strove to sit up. But the 
intense nausea overcame me, so that I all but 
swooned. 

I heard his voice again, but could attach no mean¬ 
ing to the words which he uttered. A sound of 
terrific blows reached my ears, too. 

The Burman reappeared, bending under the heavy 
load which he bore. For, as he picked his way 
through the bloated things which grew upon the 


132 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


floors of the cellars, I realized that he was carrying 
the inert body of Inspector Weymouth. And I 
found time to compare the strength of the little 
brown man with that of a Nile beetle, which can 
raise many times its own weight. 

Then, behind him, appeared a second figure, 
which immediately claimed the whole of my errant 
attention. 

“ Fu-Manchu! ” hissed my friend, from the dark¬ 
ness which concealed him. 

It was indeed none other than Fu-Manchu — the 
Fu-Manchu whom we had thought to be helpless. 
The deeps of a Chinaman’s cunning — the fine qual¬ 
ity of his courage, were forced upon me as amazing 
facts. 

He had assumed the appearance of a drugged 
opium-smoker so well as to dupe me — a medical 
man; so well as to dupe Karamaneh — whose ex¬ 
perience of the noxious habit probably was greater 
than my own. And, with the gallows dangling be¬ 
fore him, he had waited — played the part of a 
lure — whilst a body of police actually surrounded 
the place! 

I have since thought that the room probably was 
one which he actually used for opium debauches, and 
the device of the trap was intended to protect him 
during the comatose period. 

Now, holding a lantern above his head, the de¬ 
viser of the trap whereinto we, mouselike, had 
blindly entered, came through the cellars, following 
the brown man who carried Weymouth. The faint 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 133 

rays of the lantern (it apparently contained a candle) 
revealed a veritable forest of the gigantic fungi — 
poisonously colored — hideously swollen — climb¬ 
ing from the floor up the slimy walls — clinging like 
horrid parasites to such part of the arched roof as 
was visible to me. 

Fu-Manchu picked his way through the fungi 
ranks as daintily as though the distorted, tumid 
things had been viper-headed. 

The resounding blows which I had noted before, 
and which had never ceased, culminated in a splinter¬ 
ing crash. Dr. Fu-Manchu and his servant, who 
carried the apparently insensible detective, passed 
in under the arch, Fu-Manchu glancing back once 
along the passages. The lantern he extinguished, 
or concealed; and whilst I waited, my mind fully 
surveying memories of all the threats which this 
uncanny being had uttered, a distant clamor came 
to my ears. 

Then, abruptly, it ceased. Dr. Fu-Manchu had 
closed a heavy door; and to my surprise.I perceived 
that the greater part of it was glass. The will-o’- 
the-wisp glow which played around the fungi ren¬ 
dered the vista of the cellars faintly luminous, and 
visible to me from where I lay. Fu-Manchu spoke 
softly. His voice, its guttural note alternating with 
a sibilance on certain words, betrayed no traces of 
agitation. The man’s unbroken calm had in it some¬ 
thing inhuman. For he had just perpetrated an act 
of daring unparalleled in my experience, and, in the 
clamor now shut out by the glass door I tardily 


134 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


recognized the entrance of the police into some 
barricaded part of the house — the coming of those 
who would save us — who would hold the Chinese 
doctor for the hangman! 

“ I have decided,” he said deliberately, “ that you 
are more worthy of my attention than I had formerly 
supposed. A man who can solve the secret of the 
Golden Elixir ” (I had not solved it; I had merely 
stolen some) “ should be a valuable acquisition to my 
Council. The extent of the plans of Mr. Commis¬ 
sioner Nayland Smith and of the English Scotland 
Yard it is incumbent upon me to learn. Therefore, 
gentlemen, you live — for the present! ” 

“ And you’ll swing,” came Weymouth’s hoarse 
voice, “in the near future! You and all your 
yellow gang! ” 

“ I trust not,” was the placid reply. “ Most of 
my people are safe: some are shipped as lascars 
upon the liners; others have departed by different 
means. Ah! ” 

That last word was the only one indicative of 
excitement which had yet escaped him. A disk of 
light danced among the brilliant poison hues of the 
passages — but no sound reached us; by which I 
knew that the glass door must fit almost hermetically. 
It was much cooler here than in the place through 
which we had passed, and the nausea began to leave 
me, my brain to grow more clear. Had I known 
what was to follow I should have cursed the lucidity 
of mind which now came to me; I should have 
prayed for oblivion — to be spared the sight of that 
which ensued. 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 135 

“ It’s Logan!” cried Inspector Weymouth: and 
I could tell that he was struggling to free himself 
of his bonds. From his voice it was evident that 
he, too, was recovering from the effects of the nar¬ 
cotic which had been administered to us all. 

“Logan!” he cried. “Logan! This way — 
help! ” 

But the cry beat back upon us in that enclosed 
space and seemed to carry no farther than the in¬ 
visible walls of our prison. 

“ The door fits well,” came Fu-Manchu’s mocking 
voice. “ It is fortunate for us all that it is so. 
This is my observation window, Dr. Petrie, and 
you are about to enjoy an unique opportunity of 
studying fungology. I have already drawn your at¬ 
tention to the anaesthetic properties of the lycoper - 
don, or common puff-ball. You may have recog¬ 
nized the fumes? The chamber into which you 
rashly precipitated yourselves was charged with 
them. By a process of my own I have greatly en¬ 
hanced the value of the puff-ball in this respect. 
Your friend, Mr. Weymouth, proved the most ob¬ 
stinate subject; but he succumbed in fifteen seconds.” 

“Logan! Help! Help! This way, man!” 

Something very like fear sounded in Weymouth’s 
voice now. Indeed, the situation was so uncanny 
that it almost seemed unreal. A group of men had 
entered the farthermost cellars, led by one who bore 
an electric pocket-lamp. The hard, white ray 
danced from bloated gray fungi to others of night¬ 
mare shape, of dazzling, venomous brilliance. The 
mocking, lecture-room voice continued: 


136 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Note the snowy growth upon the roof, Doctor. 
Do not be deceived by its size. It is a giant variety 
of my own culture and is of the order empusa. 
You, in England, are familiar with the death of the 
common house-fly — which is found attached to the 
window-pane by a coating of white mold. I have 
developed the spores of this mold and have produced 
a giant species. Observe the interesting effect of 
the strong light upon my orange and blue amanita 
fungus! ” 

Hard beside me I heard Nayland Smith groan, 
Weymouth had become suddenly silent. For my 
own part, I could have shrieked in pure horror. 
For I knew what was coming . I realized in one 
agonized instant the significance of the dim lantern, 
of the careful progress through the subterranean 
fungi grove, of the care with which Fu-Manchu and 
his servant had avoided touching any of the growths. 
I knew, now, that Dr. Fu-Manchu was the greatest 
fungologist the world had ever known; was a poi¬ 
soner to whom the Borgias were as children — and 
I knew that the detectives blindly were walking into a 
valley of death. 

Then it began — the unnatural scene — the 
saturnalia of murder. 

Like so many bombs the brilliantly colored caps 
of the huge toadstool-like things alluded to by the 
Chinaman exploded, as the white ray sought them 
out in the darkness which alone preserved their ex¬ 
istence. A brownish cloud — I could not determine 
whether liquid or powdery — arose in the cellar. 


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 137 

I tried to close my eyes — or to turn them away 
from the reeling forms of the men who were trapped 
in that poison-hole. It was useless: I must look. 

The bearer of the lamp had dropped it, but the 
dim, eerily illuminated gloom endured scarce a 
second. A bright light sprang up — doubtless at the 
touch of the fiendish being who now resumed speech: 

“ Observe the symptoms of delirium, Doctor! ” 

Out there, beyond the glass door, the unhappy 
victims were laughing — tearing their garments 
from their bodies — leaping — waving their arms 
— were become maniacs! 

“ We will now release the ripe spores of giant 
empusa, ,} continued the wicked voice. “ The air of 
the second cellar being super-charged with oxygen, 
they immediately germinate. Ah! it is a triumph! 
That process is the scientific triumph of my life! ” 

Like powdered snow the white spores fell from 
the roof, frosting the writhing shapes of the already 
poisoned men. Before my horrified gaze, the 
fungus grew; it spread from the head to the feet 
of those it touched; it enveloped them as in glitter¬ 
ing shrouds. . . . 

“ They die like flies! ” screamed Fu-Manchu, with 
a sudden febrile excitement; and I felt assured of 
something I had long suspected: that that magnifi¬ 
cent, perverted brain was the brain of a homicidal 
maniac — though Smith would never accept the 
theory. 

“ It is my fly-trap! ” shrieked the Chinaman. 
“ And I am the god of destruction! ” 



GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 
By E. W. Hornung 

Old Raffles may or may not have been an excep¬ 
tional criminal, but as a cricketer I dare swear he was 
unique. Himself a dangerous bat, a brilliant field, 
and perhaps the very finest slow bowler of his dec¬ 
ade, he took incredibly little interest in the game 
at large. He never went up to Lord’s without his 
cricket-bag, or showed the slightest interest in the 
result of a match in which he was not himself en¬ 
gaged. Nor was this mere hateful egotism on his 
part. He professed to have lost all enthusiasm for 
the game, and to keep it up only from the very lowest 
motives. 

“ Cricket,” said Raffles, “ like everything else, is 
good enough sport until you discover a better. As 
a source of excitement it isn’t in it with other things 
you wot of, Bunny, and the involuntary comparison 
becomes a bore. What’s the satisfaction of taking 
a man’s wicket when you want his spoons? Still, if 
you can bowl a bit your low cunning won’t get rusty, 
and always looking for the weak spot’s just the kind 
of mental exercise one wants. Yes, perhaps there’s 
some affinity between the two things after all. But 

From “The Amateur Cracksman,” Copyright, 1899, by Charles 
Scribner’s Sons. By permission of the publishers. 

139 


140 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


I’d chuck up cricket to-morrow, Bunny, if it wasn’t 
for the glorious protection it affords a person of my 
proclivities.” 

“ How so? ” said I. “ It brings you before the 
public, I should have thought, far more than is 
either safe or wise.” 

“ My dear Bunny, that’s exactly where you make 
a mistake. To follow Crime with reasonable im¬ 
punity you simply must have a parallel, ostensible 
career — the more public the better. The principle 
is obvious. Mr. Peace, of pious memory, disarmed 
suspicion by acquiring a local reputation for playing 
the fiddle and taming animals, and it’s my profound 
conviction that Jack the Ripper was a really eminent 
public man, whose speeches were very likely reported 
alongside his atrocities. Fill the bill in some promi¬ 
nent part, and you’ll never be suspected of doubling 
it with another of equal prominence. That’s why 
I want you to cultivate journalism, my boy, and sign 
all you can. And it’s the one and only reason why 
I don’t burn my bats for firewood.” 

Nevertheless, when he did play there was no 
keener performer on the field, nor one more anxious 
to do well for his side. I remember how he went 
to the nets, before the first match of the season, 
with his pocket full of sovereigns, which he put on 
the stumps instead of bails. It was a sight to see 
the professionals bowling like demons for the hard 
cash, for whenever a stump was hit a pound was 
tossed to the bowler and another balanced in its 
stead, while one man took £3 with a ball that spread- 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


141 


eagled the wicket. Raffles’s practice cost him either 
eight or nine sovereigns; but he had absolutely first- 
class bowling all the time; and he made fifty-seven 
runs next day. 

It became my pleasure to accompany him to all his 
matches, to watch every ball he bowled, or played, 
or fielded, and to sit chatting with him in the pavilion 
when he was doing none of these three things. You 
might have seen us there, side by side, during the 
greater part of the Gentlemen’s first innings against 
the Players (who had lost the toss) on the second 
Monday in July. We were to be seen, but not 
heard, for Raffles had failed to score, and was un¬ 
commonly cross for a player who cared so little for 
the game. Merely taciturn with me, he was posi¬ 
tively rude to more than one member who wanted to 
know how it had happened, or who ventured to com¬ 
miserate him on his luck; there he sat, with a straw 
hat tilted over his nose and a cigarette stuck between 
lips that curled disagreeably at every advance. I 
was therefore much surprised when a young fellow 
of the exquisite type came and squeezed himself in 
between us, and met with a perfectly •civil reception 
despite the liberty. I did not know the boy by sight, 
nor did Raffles introduce us; but their conversation 
proclaimed at once a slightness of acquaintanceship 
and a license, on the lad’s part, which combined to' 
puzzle me. Mystification reached its height when 
Raffles was informed that the other’s father was anx¬ 
ious to meet him, and he instantly consented to 
gratify that whim. 


142 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ He’s in the Ladies’ Enclosure. Will you come 
round now? ” 

“ With pleasure,” says Raffles. “ Keep a place 
for me, Bunny.” 

And they were gone. 

“ Young Crowley,” said some voice further back. 
“ Last year’s Harrow Eleven.” 

“ I remember him. Worst man in the team.” 

“ Keen cricketer, however. Stopped till he was 
twenty to get his colors. Governor made him. 
Keen breed. Oh, pretty, sir! Very pretty! ” 

The game was boring me. I only came to see old 
Raffles perform. Soon I was looking wistfully for 
his return, and at length I saw him beckoning me 
from the palings to the right. 

“ Want to introduce you to old Amersteth,” he 
whispered, when I joined him. “ They’ve a cricket 
week next month, when this boy Crowley comes of 
age, and we’ve both got to go down and play.” 

“ Both! ” I echoed. “ But I’m no cricketer! ” 

“ Shut up,” says Raffles. “ Leave that to me. 
I’ve been lying for all I’m worth,” he added sepul- 
chrally as we reached the bottom of the steps. “ I 
trust to you not to give the show away.” 

There was the gleam in his eye that I knew well 
enough elsewhere, but was unprepared for in those 
healthy, sane surroundings; and it was with very de¬ 
finite misgivings and surmises that I followed the 
Zingari blazer through the vast flower-bed of hats 
and bonnets that bloomed beneath the ladies’ awn¬ 
ing. 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


143 


Lord Amersteth was a fine-looking man with a 
short mustache and a double chin. He received 
me with much dry courtesy, through which, however, 
it was not difficult to read a less flattering tale. I 
was accepted as the inevitable appendage of the in¬ 
valuable Raffles, with whom I felt deeply incensed as 
I made my bow. 

“ I have been bold enough,” said Lord Amer¬ 
steth, “ to ask one of the Gentlemen of England to 
come down and play some rustic cricket for us next 
month. He is kind enough to say that he would 
have liked nothing better, but for this little fishing 

expedition of yours, Mr.-, Mr.-,” and Lord 

Amersteth succeeded in remembering my name. 

It was, of course, the first I had ever heard of that 
fishing expedition, but I made haste to say that it 
could easily, and should certainly, be put off. 
Raffles gleamed approval through his eyelashes. 
Lord Amersteth bowed and shrugged. 

“ You’re very good, I’m sure,” said he. “ But I 
understand you’re a cricketer yourself?” 

“ He was one at school,” said Raffles, with in¬ 
famous readiness. 

“ Not a real cricketer,” I was stammering mean¬ 
while. 

“ In the eleven? ” said Lord Amersteth. 

“ I’m afraid not,” said I. 

“ But only just out of it,” declared Raffles, to my 
horror. 

“ Well, well, we can’t all play for the Gentlemen,” 
said Lord Amersteth slyly. “ My son Crowley only 




144 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

just scraped into the eleven at Harrow, and he’s go¬ 
ing to play. I may even come in myself at a pinch; 
so you won’t be the only duffer, if you are one, and I 
shall be very glad if you will come down and help 
us too. You shall flog a stream before breakfast 
and after dinner, if you like.” 

“ I should be very proud,” I was beginning, as 
the mere prelude to resolute excuses; but the eye of 
Raffles opened wide upon me; and I hesitated weakly, 
to be duly lost. 

“ Then that’s settled,” said Lord Amersteth, with 
the slightest suspicion of grimness. “ It’s to be a 
little week, you know, when my son comes of age. 
We play the Free Foresters, the Dorsetshire Gentle¬ 
men, and probably some local lot as well. But Mr. 
Raffles will tell you all about it, and Crowley shall 
write. Another wicket! By Jove, they’re all out! 
Then I rely on you both.” And, with a little nod, 
Lord Amersteth rose and sidled to the gangway. 

Raffles rose also, but I caught the sleeve of his 
blazer. 

“What are you thinking of?” I whispered 
savagely. “ I was nowhere near the eleven. I’m 
no sort of cricketer. I shall have to get out of 
this! ” 

“ Not you,” he whispered back. “ You needn’t 
play, but come you must. If you wait for me after 
half-past six I’ll tell you why.” 

But I could guess the reason; and I am ashamed to 
say that it revolted me much less than did the notion 
of making a public fool of myself on a cricket-field. 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


145 


My gorge rose at this as it no longer rose at crime, 
and it was in no tranquil humor that I strolled about 
the ground while Raffles disappeared in the pavilion. 
Nor was my annoyance lessened by a little meeting 
I witnessed between young Crowley and his father, 
who shrugged as he stopped and stooped to convey 
some information which made the young man look 
a little blank. It may have been pure self-conscious¬ 
ness on my part, but I could have sworn that the 
trouble was their inability to secure the great Raffles 
without his insignificant friend. 

Then the bell rang, and I climbed to the top of the 
pavilion to watch Raffles bowl. No subtleties are 
lost up there; and if ever a bowler was full of them, 
it was A. J. Raffles on this day, as, indeed, all the 
cricket world remembers. One had not to be a 
cricketer oneself to appreciate his perfect command 
of pitch and break, his beautifully easy action, which 
never varied with the varying pace, his great ball on 
the leg-stump — his dropping head-ball — in a word, 
the infinite ingenuity of that versatile attack. It 
was no mere exhibition of athletic prowess, it was an 
intellectual treat, and one with a special significance 
in my eyes. I saw the “ affinity between the two 
things,” saw it in that afternoon’s tireless warfare 
against the flower of professional cricket. It was 
not that Raffles took many wickets for few runs; he 
was too fine a bowler to mind being hit; and time 
was short, and the wicket good. What I admired, 
and what I remember, was the combination of re¬ 
source and cunning, of patience and precision, of 


146 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


head-work and handiwork, which made every over an 
artistic whole. It was all so characteristic of that 
other Raffles whom I alone knew! 

“ I felt like bowling this afternoon,” he told me 
later in the hansom. “ With a pitch to help me, 
I’d have done something big; as it is, three for 
forty-one, out of the four that fell, isn’t so bad for 
a slow bowler on a plumb wicket against those fel¬ 
lows. But I felt venomous ! Nothing riles me more 
than being asked about for my rricket as though I 
were a pro. myself.” 

“ Then why on earth go? ” 

“ To punish them, and — because we shall be jolly 
hard up, Bunny, before the season’s over! ” 

“ Ah! ” said I. “ I thought it was that.” 

“ Of course, it was! It seems they’re going to 
have the very devil of a week of it — balls — 
dinner-parties — swagger house-party — general 
junketings — and obviously a houseful of diamonds 
as well. Diamonds galore! As a general rule noth¬ 
ing would induce me to abuse my position as a guest. 
I’ve never done it, Bunny. But in this case we’re 
engaged like the waiters and the band, and by heaven 
we’ll take our toll! Let’s have a quiet dinner some¬ 
where and talk it over.” 

“ It seems rather a vulgar sort of theft,” I could 
not help saying; and to this, my single protest, 
Raffles instantly assented. 

“ It is a vulgar sort,” said he; “ but I can’t helpi 
that. We’re getting vulgarly hard up again, and 
there’s an end on’t. Besides, these people deserve 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


147 


it, and can afford it. And don’t you run away with 
the idea that all will be plain sailing; nothing will be 
easier than getting some stuff, and nothing harder 
than avoiding all suspicion, as, of course, we must. 
We may come away with no more than a good work¬ 
ing plan of the premises. Who knows? In any 
case there’s weeks of thinking in it for you and me.” 

But with those weeks I will not weary you further 
than by remarking that the “ thinking,” was done 
entirely by Raffles, who did not always trouble to 
communicate his thoughts to me. His reticence, 
however, was no longer an irritant. I began to ac¬ 
cept it as a necessary convention of these little enter¬ 
prises. And, after our last adventure of the kind, 
more especially after its denouement> my trust in 
Raffles was much too solid to be shaken by a want of 
trust in me, which I still believe to have been more 
the instinct of the criminal than the judgment of the 
man. 

* It was on Monday, the tenth of August, that we 
were due at Milchester Abbey, Dorset; and the be¬ 
ginning of the month found us cruising about that 
very county, with fly-rods actually in our hands. 
The idea was that we should acquire at once a local 
reputation as decent fishermen, and some knowledge 
of the countryside, with a view to further and more 
deliberate operations in the event of an unprofitable 
week. There was another idea which Raffles kept 
to himself until he had got me down there. Then 
one day he produced a cricket-ball in a meadow we 
were crossing, and threw me catches for an hour 


148 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


together. More hours he spent in bowling to me 
on the nearest green; and, if I was never a cricketer, 
at least I came nearer to being one, by the end of 
that week, than ever before or since. 

Incident began early on the Monday. We had 
sallied forth from a desolate little junction within 
quite a few miles of Milchester, had been caught in 
a shower, had run for shelter to a wayside inn. A 
florid, over-dressed man was drinking in the parlor, 
and I could have sworn it was at the sight of him 
that Raffles recoiled on the threshold, and afterwards 
insisted on returning to the station through the rain. 
He assured me, however, that the odor of stale ale 
had almost knocked him down. And I had to make 
what I could of his speculative, down-cast eyes and 
knitted brows. 

Milchester Abbey is a grey, quadrangular pile, 
deep-set in rich woody country, and twinkling with 
triple rows of quaint windows, every one of which 
seemed alight as we drove up just in time to dress 
for dinner. The carriage had whirled us under I 
know not how many triumphal arches in process of 
construction, and past the tents and flag-poles of a 
juicy-looking cricket-field, on which Raffles under¬ 
took to bowl up to his reputation. But the chief 
signs of festival were within, where we found an 
enormous house-party assembled, including more per¬ 
sons of pomp, majesty, and dominion than I had 
ever encountered in one room before. I confess I 
felt overpowered. Our errand and my own pre¬ 
tenses combined to rob me of an address upon which 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


149 


I have sometimes plumed myself; and I have a grim 
recollection of my nervous relief when dinner was at 
last announced. I little knew what an ordeal it was 
to prove. 

I had taken in a much less formidable young lady 
than might have fallen to my lot. Indeed I began 
by blessing my good fortune in this respect. Miss 
Melhuish was merely the rector’s daughter, and she 
had only been asked to make an even number. She 
informed me of both facts before the soup reached 
us, and her subsequent conversation was character¬ 
ized by the same engaging candor. It exposed what 
was little short of a mania for imparting informa¬ 
tion. I had simply to listen, to nod, and to be thank¬ 
ful. When I confessed to knowing very few of those 
present, even by sight, my entertaining companion 
proceeded to tell me who everybody was, beginning 
on my left and working conscientiously round to her 
right. This lasted quite a long time, and really in¬ 
terested me; but a great deal that followed did not; 
and, obviously to recapture my unworthy attention, 
'Miss Melhuish suddenly asked me, in a sensational 
whisper, whether I could keep a secret. 

I said I thought I might, whereupon another ques¬ 
tion followed, in still lower and more thrilling ac¬ 
cents: 

“ Are you afraid of burglars? ” 

Burglars! I was roused at last. The word 
stabbed me. I repeated it in horrified query. 

“ So I’ve found something to interest you at 
last! ” said Miss Melhuish, in naive triumph. “ Yes 


150 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


— burglars! But don’t speak so loud. It’s sup¬ 
posed to be kept a great secret. I really oughtn’t 
to tell you at all! ” 

“ But what is there to tell?” I whispered with 
satisfactory impatience. 

“ You promise not to speak of it? ” 

“ Of course! ” 

“ Well, then, there are burglars in the neighbor¬ 
hood.” 

“ Have they committed any robberies?” 

“ Not yet.” 

“ Then how do you know? ” 

“ They’ve been seen. In the district. Two well- 
known London thieves! ” 

Two! I looked at Raffles. I had done so often 
during the evening, envying him his high spirits, his 
iron nerve, his buoyant wit, his perfect ease and self- 
possession. But now I pitied him; through all my 
own terror and consternation, I pitied him as he sat 
eating and drinking, and laughing and talking, with¬ 
out a cloud of fear or of embarrassment on his hand¬ 
some, taking, daredevil face. I caught up my 
champagne and emptied the glass. 

“ Who has seen them? ” I then asked calmly. 

“ A detective. They were traced down from 
town a few days ago. They are believed to have 
designs on the Abbey! ” 

“ But why aren’t they run in? ” 

“ Exactly what I asked papa on the way here this 
evening; he says there is no warrant out against the 
men at present, and all that can be done is to watch 
their movements.” 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


151 


“ Oh ! so they are being watched? ” 
u Yes, by a detective who is down here on purpose. 
And I heard Lord Amersteth tell papa that they had 
been seen this afternoon at Warbeck Junction! ” 
The very place where Raffles and I had been 
caught in the rain! Our stampede from the inn was 
now explained; on the other hand, I was no longer 
to be taken by surprise by anything that my com¬ 
panion might have to tell me; and I succeeded in 
looking her in the face with a smile. 

“ This is really quite exciting, Miss Melhuish,” 
said I. u May I ask how you come to know so 
much about it? ” 

“ It’s papa,” was the confidential reply. “ Lord 
Amersteth consulted him, and he consulted me. 
But for goodness’ sake don’t let it get about! I 
can’t think what tempted me to tell you! ” 

“You may trust me, Miss Melhuish. But — 
aren’t you frightened? ” 

Miss Melhuish giggled. 

“Not a bit! They won’t come to the rectory. 
There’s nothing for them there. But look round the 
table: look at the diamonds: look at old Lady Mel¬ 
rose’s necklace alone! ” 

The Dowager Marchioness of Melrose was one 
of the few persons whom it had been unnecessary to 
point out to me. She sat on Lord Amersteth’s right, 
flourishing her ear-trumpet, and drinking champagne 
with her usual notorious freedom, as dissipated and 
kindly a dame as the world has ever seen. It was a 
necklace of diamonds and sapphires that rose and 
fell about her ample neck. 


152 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ They say it’s worth five thousand pounds at 
least,” continued my companion. “ Lady Margaret 
told me so this morning (that’s Lady Margaret next 
your Mr. Raffles, you know) ; and the old dear will 
wear them every night. Think what a haul they 
would be! No; we don’t feel in immediate danger 
at the rectory.” 

When the ladies rose, Miss Melhuish bound me 
to fresh vows of secrecy; and left me, I should think, 
with some remorse for her indiscretion, but more 
satisfaction at the importance which it had un¬ 
doubtedly given her in my eyes. The opinion may 
smack of vanity, though, in reality, the very springs 
of conversation reside in that same human, universal 
itch to thrill the auditor. The peculiarity of Miss 
Melhuish was that she must be thrilling at all costs. 
And thrilling she had surely been. 

I spare you my feelings of the next two hours. I 
tried hard to get a word with Raffles, but again and 
again I failed. In the dining-room he and Crowley 
lit their cigarettes with the same match, and had 
their heads together all the time. In the drawing¬ 
room I had the mortification of hearing him talk in¬ 
terminable nonsense into the ear-trumpet of Lady 
Melrose, whom he knew in town. Lastly, in the 
billiard-room, they had a great and lengthy pool, 
while I sat aloof and chafed more than ever in the 
company of a very serious Scotchman, who had ar¬ 
rived since dinner, and who would talk of nothing 
but the recent improvements in instantaneous photo¬ 
graphy. He had not come to play in the matches 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


153 


(he told me), but to obtain for Lord Amersteth 
such a series of cricket photographs as had never 
been taken before; whether as an amateur or a pro¬ 
fessional photographer I was unable to determine. 
I remember, however, seeking distraction in little 
bursts of resolute attention to the conversation of 
this bore. And so at last the long ordeal ended; 
glasses were emptied, men said good-night, and I 
followed Raffles to his room. 

“ It’s all up! ” I gasped, as he turned up the gas 
and I shut the door. “ We’re being watched. 
We’ve been followed down from town. There’s a 
detective here on the spot! ” 

“How do you know?” asked Raffles, turning 
upon me quite sharply, but without the least dismay. 
And I told him how I knew. 

“ Of course,” I added, “ it was the fellow we saw 
in the inn this afternoon.” 

“ The detective? ” said Raffles. “ Do you mean 
to say you don’t know a detective when you see one, 
Bunny? ” 

“ If that wasn’t the fellow, which is? ” 

Raffles shook his head. 

“ To think that you’ve been talking to him for 
the last hour in the billiard-room and couldn’t spot 
what he was ! ” 

“ The Scotch photographer-” 

I paused aghast. 

“ Scotch he is,” said Raffles, “ and photographer 
he may be. He is also Inspector Mackenzie of 
Scotland Yard — the very man I sent the message to 



154 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


that night last April. And you couldn’t spot who he 
was in a whole hour! O Bunny, Bunny, you were 
never built for crime! ” 

“ But,” said I, “ if that was Mackenzie, who was 
the fellow you bolted from at Warbeck? ” 

“ That man he’s watching.” 

“ But he’s watching us! ” 

Raffles looked at me with a pitying eye, and shook 
his head again before handing me his open cigarette- 
case. 

“ I don’t know whether smoking’s forbidden in 
one’s bedroom, but you’d better take one of these 
and stand tight, Bunny, because I’m going to say 
something offensive.” 

I helped myself with a laugh. 

“ Say what you like, my dear fellow, if it really 
isn’t you and I that Mackenzie’s after.” 

“ Well, then, it isn’t, and it couldn’t be, and no¬ 
body but a born Bunny would suppose for a moment 
that it was! Do you seriously think he would sit 
there and knowingly watch his man playing pool 
under his nose? Well, he might; he’s a cool hand, 
Mackenzie; but I’m not cool enough to win a pool 
under such conditions. At least I don’t think I am; 
it would be interesting to see. The situation wasn’t 
free from strain as it was, though I knew he wasn’t 
thinking of us. Crowley told me all about it after 
dinner, you see, and then I’d seen one of the men 
for myself this afternoon. You thought it was a 
detective who made me turn tail at that inn. I 
really don’t know why I didn’t tell you at the time, 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


155 


but it was just the opposite. That loud, red-faced 
brute is one of the cleverest thieves in London, and 
I once had a drink with him and our mutual fence. 
I was an Eastender from tongue to toe at the mo¬ 
ment, but you will understand that I don’t run un¬ 
necessary risks of recognition by a brute like that.” 

“ He’s not alone, I hear.” 

“ By no means; there’s at least one other man 
with him; and it’s suggested that there may be an 
accomplice here in the house.” 

“ Did Lord Crowley tell you so? ” 

“ Crowley and the champagne between them. In 
confidence, of course, just as your girl told you; but 
even in confidence he never let on about Mackenzie. 
He told me there was a detective in the background, 
but that was all. Putting him up as a guest is evi¬ 
dently their big secret, to be kept from the other 
guests because it might offend them, but more par¬ 
ticularly from the servants whom he’s here to watch. 
That’s my reading of the situation, Bunny, and you 
will agree with me that it’s infinitely more interesting 
than we could have imagined it would prove.” 

“ But infinitely more difficult for us,” said I, with 
a sigh of pusillanimous relief. “ Our hands are 
tied for this week, at all events.” 

“ Not necessarily, my dear Bunny, though I admit 
that the chances are against us. Yet I’m not so 
sure of that either. There are all sorts of pos¬ 
sibilities in these three-cornered combinations. Set 
A to watch B, and he won’t have an eye left for 
C. That’s the obvious theory, but then Mackenzie’s 


156 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


a very big A. I should be sorry to have any boodle 
about me with that man in the house. Yet it would 
be great to nip in between A and B and score off 
them both at once! It would be worth a risk, 
Bunny, to do that; it would be worth risking some¬ 
thing merely to take on old hands like B and his 
men at their own old game! Eh, Bunny? That 
would be something like a match. Gentlemen and 
Players at single wicket, by Jove! ” 

His eyes were brighter than I had known them for 
many a day. They shone with the perverted en¬ 
thusiasm which was roused in him only by the con¬ 
templation of some new audacity. He kicked off his 
shoes and began pacing his room with noiseless rapid¬ 
ity; not since the night of the Old Bohemian dinner 
to Reuben Rosenthall had Raffles exhibited such 
excitement in my presence; and I was not sorry at 
the moment to be reminded of the fiasco to which 
that banquet had been the prelude. 

“ My dear A. J.,” said I in his very own tone, 

“you’re far too fond of the uphill game; you will 

eventually fall a victim to the sporting spirit and 
nothing else. Take a lesson from our last escape, 
and fly lower as you value our skins. Study the 

house as much as you like, but do — not — go and 

shove your head in Mackenzie’s mouth! ” 

My wealth of metaphor brought him to a stand¬ 
still, with his cigarette between his fingers and a 
grin beneath his shining eyes. 

“ You’re quite right, Bunny. I won’t. I really 
won’t. Yet — you saw old Lady Melrose’s neck- 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


157 


lace? I’ve been wanting it for years! But I’m 
not going to play the fool; honor bright, I’m not; 
yet — by Jove ! — to get to windward of the profes¬ 
sors and Mackenzie too! It would be a great game, 
Bunny, it would be a great game! ” 

“ Well, you mustn’t play it this week.” 

“ No, no, I won’t. But I wonder how the profes¬ 
sors think of going to work? That’s what one 
wants to know. I wonder if they’ve really got an 
accomplice in the house? How I wish I knew their 
game! But it’s all right, Bunny; don’t you be jeal¬ 
ous; it shall be as you wish.” 

And with that assurance I went off to my own 
room, and so to bed with an incredibly light heart. I 
had still enough of the honest man in me to welcome 
the postponement of our actual felonies, to dread 
their performance, to deplore their necessity: which 
is merely another way of stating the too patent fact 
that I was an incomparably weaker man than Raffles, 
while every whit as wicked. I had, however, one 
rather strong point. I possessed the gift of dismiss¬ 
ing unpleasant considerations, not intimately con¬ 
nected with the passing moment, entirely from my 
mind. Through the exercise of this faculty I had 
lately been living my frivolous life in town with as 
much ignoble enjoyment as I had derived from it the 
year before; and similarly, here at Milchester, in the 
long-dreaded cricket week, I had after all a quite 
excellent time. It is true that there were other fac¬ 
tors in this pleasing disappointment. In the first 
place, mirabile dictu, there were one or two even 


158 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


greater duffers than I on the Abbey cricket field. 
Indeed, quite early in the week, when it was of most 
value to me, I gained considerable kudos for a lucky 
catch; a ball, of which I had merely heard the hum, 
stuck fast in my hand, which Lord Amersteth him¬ 
self grasped in public congratulation. This happy 
accident was not to be undone even by me, and, as 
nothing succeeds like success, and the constant en¬ 
couragement of the one great cricketer on the field 
was in itself an immense stimulus, I actually made a 
run or two in my very next innings. Miss Melhuish 
said pretty things to me that night at the great ball 
in honor of Viscount Crowley’s majority; she also 
told me that was the night on which the robbers 
would assuredly make their raid, and was full of 
arch tremors when we sat out in the garden, though 
the entire premises were illuminated all night long. 
Meanwhile the quiet Scotchman took countless photo¬ 
graphs by day, which he developed by night in a dark 
room admirably situated in the servants’ part of the 
house; and it is my firm belief that only two of his 
fellow-guests knew Mr. Clephane of Dundee for 
Inspector Mackenzie of Scotland Yard. 

The week was to end with a trumpery match on 
the Saturday, which two or three of us intended 
abandoning early in order to return to town that 
night. The match, however, was never played. In 
the small hours of the Saturday morning a tragedy 
took place at Milchester Abbey. 

Let me tell of the thing as I saw and heard it. 
My room opened upon the central gallery, and was 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


159 


not even on the same floor as that on which Raffles 
— and I think all the other men — were quartered. 
I had been put, in fact, into the dressing-room of one 
of the grand suites, and my too near neighbors were 
old Lady Melrose and my host and hostess. Now, 
by the Friday evening the actual festivities were at 
an end, and, for the first time that week, I must have 
been sound asleep since midnight, when all at once 
I found myself sitting up breathless. A heavy thud 
had come against my door, and now I heard hard 
breathing and the dull stamp of muffled feet. 

“ I’ve got ye,” muttered a voice. “ It’s no use 
struggling.” 

It was the Scotch detective, and a new fear turned 
me cold. There was no reply, but the hard breath¬ 
ing grew harder still, and the muffled feet beat the 
floor to a quicker measure. In sudden panic I 
sprang out of bed and flung open my door. A light 
burnt low on the landing, and by it I could see 
Mackenzie swaying and staggering in a silent tussle 
with some powerful adversary. 

“Hold this man!” he cried, as I appeared. 
“ Hold the rascal! ” 

But I stood like a fool until the pair of them 
backed into me, when, with a deep breath I flung my¬ 
self on the fellow, whose face I had seen at last. He 
was one of the footmen who waited at table; and no 
sooner had I pinned him than the detective loosed 
his hold. 

“ Hang on to him,” he cried. “ There’s more of 
’em below.” 


160 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


And he went leaping down the stairs, as other 
doors opened and Lord Amersteth and his son ap¬ 
peared simultaneously in their pajamas. At that 
my man ceased struggling; but I was still holding 
him when Crowley turned up the gas. 

“What the devil’s all this?” asked Lord Amer¬ 
steth, blinking. “ Who was that ran downstairs? ” 

“ Mac— Clephane! ” said I hastily. 

“ Aha! ” said he, turning to the footman. “ So 
you’re the scoundrel, are you? Well done! Well 
done ! Where was he caught? ” 

I had no idea. 

“ Here’s Lady Melrose’s door open,” said 
Crowley. u Lady Melrose ! Lady Melrose ! ” 

“ You forget she’s deaf,” said Lord Amersteth. 
“Ah! that’ll be her maid.” 

An inner door had opened; next instant there was 
a little shriek, and a white figure gesticulated on the 
threshold. 

“ Ou done est l’ecrin de Madame la Marquise? 
La fenetre est ouverte. II a disparu! ” 

“ Window open and jewel-case gone, by Jove! ” 
exclaimed Lord Amersteth. “ Mais comment est 
Madame la Marquise? Est elle bien? ” 

“ Oui, milor. Elle dort.” 

“ Sleeps through it all,” said my lord. “ She’s 
the only one, then! ” 

“What made Mackenzie — Clephane — bolt?” 
young Crowley asked me. 

“ Said there were more of them below.” 

“ Why the devil couldn’t you tell us so before? ” 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


161 


he cried, and went leaping downstairs in his turn. 

He was followed by nearly all the cricketers, who 
now burst upon the scene in a body, only to desert it 
for the chase. Raffles was one of them, and I would 
gladly have been another, had not the footman 
chosen this moment to hurl me from him, and to 
make a dash in the direction from which they had 
come. Lord Amersteth had him in an instant; but 
the fellow fought desperately, and it took the two of 
us to drag him downstairs, amid a terrified chorus 
from half-open doors. Eventually we handed him 
over to two other footmen who appeared with their 
nightshirts tucked into their trousers, and my host 
was good enough to compliment me as he led the 
way outside. 

“ I thought I heard a shot,” he added. “ Didn’t 
you? ” 

“ I thought I heard three.” 

And out we dashed into the darkness. 

I remember how the gravel pricked my feet, how 
the wet grass numbed them as we made for the sound 
of voices on an outlying lawn. So dark was the 
night that we were in the cricketers’ midst before we 
saw the shimmer of their pajamas; and then Lord 
Amersteth almost trod on Mackenzie as he lay pros¬ 
trate in the dew. 

“ Who’s this? ” he cried. “ What on earth’s hap¬ 
pened? ” 

“ It’s Clephane,” said a man who knelt over him. 
“ He’s got a bullet in him somewhere.” 

“ Is he alive? ” 


162 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Barely.” 

“ Good God! Where’s Crowley? ” 

“ Here I am,” called a breathless voice. “ It’s no 
good, you fellows. There’s nothing to show which 
way they’ve gone. Here’s Raffles; he’s chucked it, 
too.” And they ran up panting. 

“ Well, we’ve got one of them, at all events,” 
muttered Lord Amersteth. “ The next thing is to 
get this poor fellow indoors. Take his shoulders, 
somebody. Now his middle. Join hands under 
him. All together, now; that’s the way. Poor fel¬ 
low! Poor fellow! Plis name isn’t Clephane at 
all. He’s a Scotland Yard detective, down here for 
these very villains! ” 

Raffles was the first to express surprise; but he 
had also been the first to raise the wounded man. 
Nor had any of them a stronger or more tender 
hand in the slow procession to the house. In a little 
we had the senseless man stretched on a sofa in the 
library. And there, with ice on his wound and 
brandy in his throat, his eyes opened and his lips 
moved. 

Lord Amersteth bent down to catch the words. 

“ Yes, yes,” said he; “ we’ve got one of them safe 
and sound. The brute you collared upstairs.” 
Lord Amersteth bent lower. “ By Jove! Lowered 
the jewel-case out of the window, did he? And 
they’ve got clean away with it! Well, well! I only 
hope we’ll be able to pull this good fellow through. 
He’s off again.” 

An hour passed: the sun was rising. 


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


163 


It found a dozen young fellows on the settees in 
the billiard-room, drinking whisky and soda-water in 
their overcoats and pajamas, and still talking 
excitedly in one breath. A time-table was being 
passed from hand to hand: the doctor was still in 
the library. At last the door opened, and Lord 
Amersteth put in his head. 

“ It isn’t hopeless,” said he, “ but it’s bad enough. 
There’ll be no cricket to-day.” 

Another hour, and most of us were on our way to 
catch the early train; between us we filled a compart¬ 
ment almost to suffocation. And still we talked all 
together of the night’s event; and still I was a little 
hero in my way, for having kept my hold of the one 
ruffian who had been taken; and my gratification was 
subtle and intense. Raffles watched me under low¬ 
ered lids. Not a word had we had together; not a 
word did we have until we had left the others at 
Paddington, and were skimming through the streets 
in a hansom with noiseless tires and a tinkling bell. 

“ Well, Bunny,” said Raffles, “ so the professors 
have it, eh? ” 

“ Yes,” said I. “ And I’m jolly glad! ” 

“ That poor Mackenzie has a ball in his chest? ” 

“ That you and I have been on the decent side 
for once.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You’re hopeless, Bunny, quite hopeless! I take 
it you wouldn’t have refused your share if the boodle 
had fallen to us? Yet you positively enjoy coming 
off second best — for the second time running! I 


164 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


confess, however, that the professors’ methods weie 
full of interest to me. I, for one, have probably 
gained as much in experience as I have lost in other 
things. That lowering the jewel-case out of the 
window was a very simple and effective expedient; 
two of them had been waiting below for it for hours.” 

“ How do you know? ” I asked. 

“ I saw them from my own window, which was 
just above the dear old lady’s. I was fretting for 
that necklace in particular, when I went up to turn 
in for our last night — and I happened to look out 
of my window. In point of fact, I wanted to see 
whether the one below was open, and whether there 
was the slightest chance of working the oracle with 
my sheet for a rope. Of course I took the precau¬ 
tion of turning my light off first, and it was a lucky 
thing I did. I saw the pros, right down below, and 
they never saw me. I saw a little tiny luminous disk 
just for an instant, and then again for an instant a 
few minutes later. Of course I knew what it was, 
for I have my own watch-dial daubed with luminous 
paint; it makes a lantern of sorts when you can get 
no better. But these fellows were not using theirs 
as a lantern. They were under the old lady’s win¬ 
dow. They were watching the time. The whole 
thing was arranged with their accomplice inside. Set 
a thief to catch a thief: in a minute I had guessed 
what the whole thing proved to be.” 

“ And you did nothing! ” I exclaimed. 

“ On the contrary, I went downstairs and straight 
into Lady Melrose’s room-” 



GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 


165 


“ You did?” 

“ Without a moment’s hesitation. To save her 
jewels. And I was prepared to yell as much into 
her ear-trumpet for all the house to hear. But the 
dear lady is too deaf and too fond of her dinner to 
wake easily.” 

“ Well?” 

“ She didn’t stir.” 

“ And yet you allowed the professors, as you call 
them, to take her jewels, case and all! ” 

“ All but this,” said Raffles, thrusting his fist into 
my lap. “ I would have shown it you before, but 
really, old fellow, your face all day has been worth 
a fortune to the firm! ” 

And he opened his fist, to shut it next instant on 
the bunch of diamonds and of sapphires that I had 
last seen encircling the neck of Lady Melrose. 





THE BLACK HAND 
By Arthur B. Reeve 

Kennedy and I had been dining rather late one 
evening at Luigi’s, a little Italian restaurant on the 
lower West Side. We had known the place well in 
our student days, and had made a point of visiting 
it once a month since, in order to keep in practice 
in the fine art of gracefully handling long shreds 
of spaghetti. Therefore we did not think it strange 
when the proprietor himself stopped a moment at 
our table to greet us. Glancing furtively around at 
the other diners, mostly Italians, he suddenly leaned 
over and whispered to Kennedy: 

“ I have heard of your wonderful detective work, 
Professor. Could you give a little advice in the 
case of a friend of mine? ” 

“ Surely, Luigi. What is the case? ” asked Craig, 
leaning back in his chair. 

Luigi glanced around again apprehensively and 
lowered his voice. “ Not so loud, sir. When you 
pay your check, go out, walk around Washington 
Square, and come in at the private entrance. I’ll 
be waiting in the hall. My friend is dining privately 
upstairs.” 

From “The Silent Bullet: The Adventures of Craig Kennedy, 
Scientific Detective,” Copyright, 1910, by Harper & Brothers. 

167 


168 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


We lingered a while over our chianti, then quietly 
paid the check and departed. 

True to his word, Luigi was waiting for us in the 
dark hall. With a motion that indicated silence, he 
led us up the stairs to the second floor, and quickly 
opened a door into what seemed to be a fair-sized 
private dining-room. A man was pacing the floor 
nervously. On a table was some food, untouched. 
As the door opened I thought he started as if in 
fear, and I am sure his dark face blanched, if only 
for an instant. Imagine our surprise at seeing 
Gennaro, the great tenor, with whom merely to have 
a speaking acquaintance was to argue oneself famous. 

“ Oh, it is you, Luigi,” he exclaimed in perfect 
English, rich and mellow. “ And who are these 
gentlemen? ” 

Luigi merely replied, “ Friends,” in English also, 
and then dropped off into a voluble, low-toned ex¬ 
planation in Italian. 

I could see, as we waited, that the same idea had 
flashed over Kennedy’s mind as over my own. It 
was now three or four days since the papers had 
reported the strange kidnaping of Gennaro’s five- 
year-old daughter Adelina, his only child, and the 
sending of a demand for ten thousand dollars ran¬ 
som, signed, as usual, with the mystic Black Hand 
— a name to conjure with in blackmail and extor¬ 
tion. 

As Signor Gennaro advanced toward us, after his 
short talk with Luigi, almost before the introduc¬ 
tions were over, Kennedy anticipated him by say- 


THE BLACK HAND 


169 


ing: “ I understand, Signor, before you ask me. I 
have read all about it in the papers. You want 
some one to help you catch the criminals who are 
holding your little girl.” 

“ No, no! ” exclaimed Gennaro excitedly. “ Not 
that. I want to get my daughter first. After that, 
catch them if you can — yes, I should like to have 
some one do it. But read this first and tell me what 
you think of it. How should I act to get my little 
Adelina back without harming a hair of her head? ” 
The famous singer drew from a capacious pocketbook 
a dirty, crumpled letter, scrawled on cheap paper. 

Kennedy translated it quickly. It read: 

Honorable sir: Your daughter is in safe hands. But, by 
the saints, if you give this letter to the police as you did 
the other, not only she but your family also, some one near 
to you, will suffer. We will not fail as we did Wednesday. 
If you want your daughter back, go yourself, alone and 
without telling a soul, to Enrico Albano’s Saturday night 
at the twelfth hour. You must provide yourself with 
$10,000 in bills hidden in Saturday’s II Progresso Italiano . 
In the back room you will see a man sitting alone at a table. 
He will have a red flower on his coat. You are to say, “ A 
fine opera is ‘ I Pagliacci.’ ” If he answers, “ Not without 
Gennaro,” lay the newspaper down on the table. He will 
pick it up, leaving his own, the Bolletino. On the third 
page you will find written the place where your daughter 
has been left waiting for you. Go immediately and get her. 
But, by the God, if you have so much as the shadow of the 
police near Enrico’s your daughter will be sent to you in a 
box that night. Do not fear to come. We pledge our 


170 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


word to deal fairly if you deal fairly. This is a last warn¬ 
ing. Lest you shall forget we will show one other sign of 
our power to-morrow. 

La Mano Nera. 

The end of this ominous letter was gruesomely 
decorated with a skull and cross-bones, a rough 
drawing of a dagger thrust through a bleeding heart, 
a coffin, and, under all, a huge black hand. There 
was no doubt about the type of letter that it was. 
It was such as have of late years become increas¬ 
ingly common in all our large cities, baffling the best 
detectives. 

“ You have not showed this to the police, I pre¬ 
sume?” asked Kennedy. 

“ Naturally not.” 

“ Are you going Saturday night? ” 

“ I am afraid to go and afraid to stay away,” 
was the reply, and the voice of the fifty-thousand- 
dollars-a-season tenor was as human as that of a 
five-dollar-a-week father, for at bottom all men, high 
or low, are one. 

“ ‘ We will not fail as we did Wednesday,’ ” re¬ 
read Craig. “ What does that mean? ” 

Gennaro fumbled in his pocketbook again, and at 
last drew forth a typewritten letter bearing the letter¬ 
head of the Leslie Laboratories, Incorporated. 

“ After I received the first threat,” explained 
Gennaro, “ my wife and I went from our apartments 
at the hotel to her father’s, the banker Cesare, you 
know, who lives on Fifth Avenue. I gave the letter 
to the Italian Squad of the police. The next morn- 


THE BLACK HAND 


171 


ing my father-in-law’s butler noticed something 
peculiar about the milk. He barely touched some 
of it to his tongue, and he has been violently ill 
ever since. I at once sent the milk to the laboratory 
of my friend Doctor Leslie to have it analyzed. 
This letter shows what the household escaped.” 


“ My dear Gennaro,” read Kennedy. “ The milk sub¬ 
mitted to us for examination on the ioth inst. has been 
carefully analyzed, and I beg to hand you herewith the 
result: 


Water.. 
Casein. . 
Albumin 
Globulin 
Lactose., 

Ash_ 

Fat. 

Ricin. . . 


Specific gravity 1.036 at 15 degrees Cent. 
.84.60 per cent. 


349 

.56 


a 

<< 


<( 

t( 


1.32 

5.08 


<« 

<< 


a 

(< 


.72 
342 
1.19 


<( 

«( 

<( 


<( 

u 

n 


“ Ricin is a new and little-known poison derived from the 
shell of the castor-oil bean. Professor Ehrlich states that 
one gram of the pure poison will kill 1,500,000 guinea pigs. 
Ricin was lately isolated by Professor Robert, of Rostock, 
but is seldom found except in an impure state, though still 
very deadly. It surpasses strychnine, prussic acid, and other 
commonly known drugs. I congratulate you and yours on 
escaping and shall of course respect your wishes absolutely 
regarding keeping secret this attempt on your life. Believe 
me, 

“ Very sincerely yours, 


C. W. Leslie/' 










172 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


As Kennedy handed the letter back, he remarked 
significantly: “ I can see very readily why you 
don’t care to have the police force figure in your 
case. It has got quite beyond ordinary police 
methods.” 

“ And to-morrow, too, they are going to give an¬ 
other sign of their power,” groaned Gennaro, sink¬ 
ing into the chair before his untasted food. 

“You say you have left your hotel?” inquired 
Kennedy. 

“ Yes. My wife insisted that we would be more 
safely guarded at the residence of her father, the 
banker. But we are afraid even there since the 
poison attempt. So I have come here secretly to 
Luigi, my old friend Luigi, who is preparing food 
for us, and in a few minutes one of the Cesare’s auto¬ 
mobiles will be here, and I will take the food up 
to her — sparing no expense or trouble. She is 
heart-broken. It will kill her, Professor Kennedy, 
if anything happens to our little Adelina. 

“ Ah, sir, I am not poor myself. A month’s 
salary at the opera-house, that is what they ask of 
me. Gladly would I give it, ten thousand dollars — 
all, if they asked it, of my contract with Herr 
Schleppencour, the director. But the police — bah ! 
— they are all for catching the villains. What good 
will it do me if they do catch them and my little 
Adelina is returned to me dead? It is all very well 
for the Anglo-Saxon to talk of justice and the 
law, but I am — what you call it?—an emotional 
Latin. I want my little daughter — and at any cost. 


THE BLACK HAND 


173 


Catch the villains afterward — yes. I will pay 
double then to catch them so that they cannot black¬ 
mail me again. Only first I want my daughter 
back.” 

“And your father-in-law?” 

“ My father-in-law, he has been among you long 
enough to be one of you. He has fought them. 
He has put up a sign in his banking-house, 1 No 
money paid on threats.’ But I say it is foolish. 
I do not know America as well as he, but I know 
this: the police never succeed — the ransom is paid 
without their knowledge, and they very often take 
the credit. I say, pay first, then I will swear a 
righteous vendetta — I will bring the dogs to justice 
with the money yet on them. Only show me how, 
show me how.” 

“ First of all,” replied Kennedy, “ I want you to 
answer one question, truthfully, without reservation, 
as to a friend. I am your friend, believe me. Is 
there any person, a relative or acquaintance of your¬ 
self or your wife or your father-in-law, whom you 
even have reason to suspect of being capable of 
extorting money from you in this way? I needn’t 
say that that is the experience of the district at¬ 
torney’s office in the large majority of cases of this 
so-called Black Hand.” 

“ No,” replied the tenor without hesitation. “ I 
know that, and I have thought about it. No, I can 
think of no one. I know you Americans often speak 
of the Black Hand as a myth coined originally by 
a newspaper writer. Perhaps it has no organiza- 


174 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


tion. But, Professor Kennedy, to me it is no myth. 
What if the real Black Hand is any gang of crim¬ 
inals who choose to use that convenient name to 
extort money? Is it the less real? My daughter 
is gone! ” 

“ Exactly,” agreed Kennedy. “ It is not a the¬ 
ory that confronts you. It is a hard, cold fact. I 
understand that perfectly. What is the address of 
this Albano’s? ” 

Luigi mentioned a number on Mulberry Street, 
and Kennedy made a note of it. 

“ It is a gambling saloon,” explained Luigi. 
“ Albano is a Neapolitan, a Camorrista, one of my 
countrymen of whom I am thoroughly ashamed, Pro¬ 
fessor Kennedy.” 

“ Do you think this Albano had anything to do 
with the letter? ” 

Luigi shrugged his shoulders. 

Just then a big limousine was heard outside. 
Luigi picked up a huge hamper that was placed in 
a corner of the room and, followed closely by Signor 
Gennaro, hurried down to it. As the tenor left us 
he grasped our hands in each of his. 

“ I have an idea in my mind,” said Craig simply. 
“ I will try to think it out in detail to-night. Where 
can I find you to-morrow?” 

“ Come to me at the opera-house in the after¬ 
noon, or if you want me sooner at Mr. Cesare’s 
residence. Good night, and a thousand thanks to 
you, Professor Kennedy, and to you, also, Mr. 
Jameson. I trust you absolutely because Luigi 
trusts you.” 


THE BLACK HAND 175 

We sat in the little dining-room until we heard 
the door of the limousine bang shut and the car 
shoot off with the rattle of the changing gears. 

“ One more question, Luigi,” said Craig as the 
door opened again. “ I have never been on that 
block in Mulberry Street where this Albano’s is. 
Do you happen to know any of the shopkeepers on 
it or near it? ” 

“ I have a cousin who has a drug-store on the 
corner below Albano’s, on the same side of the 
street.” 

“ Good! Do you think he would let me use his 
store for a few minutes Saturday night — of course 
without any risk to himself? ” 

“ I think I could arrange it.” 

“ Very well. Then to-morrow, say at nine in the 
morning, I will stop here, and we will all go over to 
see him. Good night, Luigi, and many thanks for 
thinking of me in connection with this case. I’ve 
enjoyed Signor Gennaro’s singing often enough at 
the opera to want to render him this service, and 
I’m only too glad to be able to be of service to all 
honest Italians; that is, if I succeed in carrying out 
a plan I have in mind.” 

A little before nine the following day Kennedy 
and I dropped into Luigi’s again. Kennedy was 
carrying a suit-case which he had taken over from 
his laboratory to our rooms the night before. 
Luigi was waiting for us, and without losing a minute 
we sallied forth. 

By means of the tortuous twists of streets in old 


176 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Greenwich village we came out at last on Bleecker 
Street and began walking east amid the hurly-burly 
of races of lower New York. We had not quite 
reached Mulberry Street when our attention was at¬ 
tracted by a large crowd on one of the busy corners, 
held back by a cordon of police who were endeavor¬ 
ing to keep the people moving with that burly good 
nature which the six-foot Irish policeman displays 
toward the five-foot burden-bearers of southern and 
eastern Europe who throng New York. 

Apparently, we saw, as we edged up into the front 
of the crowd, here was a building whose whole front 
had literally been torn off and wrecked. The thick 
plate-glass of the windows was smashed to a mass 
of greenish splinters on the sidewalk, while the 
windows of the upper floors and for several houses 
down the block in either street were likewise broken. 
Some thick iron bars which had formerly protected 
the windows were now bent and twisted. A huge 
hole yawned in the floor inside the doorway, and 
peering in we could see the desks and chairs a tangled 
mass of kindling. 

“What’s the matter?” I inquired of an officer 
near me, displaying my reporter’s fire-line badge, 
more for its moral effect than in the hope of getting 
any real information in these days of enforced silence 
toward the press. 

“ Black Hand bomb,” was the laconic reply. 

“ Whew! ” I whistled. “ Any one hurt? ” 

“ They don’t usually kill any one, do they? ” asked 
the officer by way of reply to test my acquaintance 
with such things. 


THE BLACK HAND 


177 


“ No,” I admitted. “ They destroy more prop¬ 
erty than lives. But did they get any one this time? 
This must have been a thoroughly overloaded bomb, 
I should judge by the looks of things.” 

“ Came pretty close to it. The bank hadn’t any 
more than opened when, bang! went this gas-pipe- 
and-dynamite thing. Crowd collected before the 
smoke had fairly cleared. Man who owns the bank 
was hurt, but not badly. Now come, beat it down 
to headquarters if you want to find out any more. 
You’ll find it printed on the pink slips — the ‘ squeal 
book ’— by this time. ’Gainst the rules for me to 
talk,” he added with a good-natured grin, then to 
the crowd: u G’wan, now. You’re blockin’ traffic. 
Keep movin’.” 

I turned to Craig and Luigi. Their eyes were 
riveted on the big gilt sign, half broken, and all 
askew overhead. It read: 

CIRO DI CESARE & CO., BANKERS 
NEW YORK, GENOA, NAPLES, ROME, 
PALERMO 

“ This is the reminder so that Gennaro and his 
father-in-law will not forget,” I gasped. 

“Yes,” added Craig, pulling us away, “and 
Cesare himself is v wounded, too. Perhaps that 
was for putting up the notice refusing to pay. Per¬ 
haps not. It’s a queer case — they usually set the 
bombs off at night when no one is around. There 
must be more back of this than merely to scare 
Gennaro. It looks to me as if they were after 



178 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

Cesare, too, first by poison, then by dynamite.” 

We shouldered our way out through the crowd 
and went on until we came to Mulberry Street, 
pulsing with life. Down we went past the little 
shops, dodging the children, and making way for 
women with huge bundles of sweat-shop clothing ac¬ 
curately balanced on their heads or hugged up under 
their capacious capes. Here was just one little 
colony of the hundreds of thousands of Italians — a 
population larger than the Italian population of 
Rome — of whose life the rest of New York knew 
and cared nothing. 

At last we came to Albano’s little wine-shop, a 
dark, evil, malodorous place on the street level of 
a five-story, alleged “ new-law ” tenement. With¬ 
out hesitation Kennedy entered, and we followed, 
acting the part of a slumming party. There were 
a few customers at this early hour, men out of em¬ 
ployment and an inoffensive-looking lot, though of 
course they eyed us sharply. Albano himself proved 
to be a greasy, low-browed fellow who had a sort 
of cunning look. I could well imagine such a fellow 
spreading terror in the hearts of simple folk by 
merely pressing both temples with his thumbs and 
drawing his long bony fore-finger under his throat 
— the so-called Black Hand sign that has shut up 
many a witness in the middle of his testimony even 
in open court. 

We pushed through to the low-ceilinged back 
room, which was empty, and sat down at a table. 
Over a bottle of Albano’s famous California “ red- 


THE BLACK HAND 


179 


ink ” we sat silently. Kennedy was making a mental 
note of the place. In the middle of the ceiling was 
a single gas-burner with a big reflector over it. In 
the back wall of the room was a horizontal oblong 
window, barred, and with a sash that opened like a 
transom. The tables were dirty and the chairs 
rickety. The walls were bare and unfinished, with 
beams innocent of decoration. Altogether it was 
as unprepossessing a place as I had ever seen. 

Apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, Kennedy 
got up to go, complimenting the proprietor on his 
wine. I could see that Kennedy had made up his 
mind as to his course of action. 

“ How sordid crime really is,” he remarked as 
we walked on down the street. “ Look at that 
place of Albano’s. I defy even the police news re¬ 
porter on the Star to find any glamour in that.” 

Our next stop was at the corner at the little store 
kept by the cousin of Luigi, who conducted us back 
of the partition where prescriptions were com¬ 
pounded, and found us chairs. 

A hurried explanation from Luigi brought a cloud 
to the open face of the druggist, as if he hesitated 
to lay himself and his little fortune open to the 
blackmailers. Kennedy saw it and interrupted. 

“ All that I wish to do,” he said, “ is to put in a 
little instrument here and use it to-night for a few 
minutes. Indeed, there will be no risk to you, 
Vincenzo. Secrecy is what I desire, and no one will 
ever know about it.” 

Vincenzo was at length convinced, and Craig 


180 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


opened his suit-case. There was little in it except 
several coils of insulated wire, some tools, a couple 
of packages wrapped up, and a couple of pairs of 
overalls. In a moment Kennedy had donned over¬ 
alls and was smearing dirt and grease over his face 
and hands. Under his direction I did the same. 

Taking the bag of tools, the wire, and one of 
the small packages, we went out on the street and 
then up through the dark and ill-ventilated hall of 
the tenement. Half-way up a woman stopped us 
suspiciously. 

“ Telephone company,” said Craig curtly. 
“ Here’s permission from the owner of the house 
to string wires across the roof.” 

He pulled an old letter out of his pocket, but 
as it was too dark to read even if the woman had 
cared to do so, we went on up as he had expected, 
unmolested. At last we came to the roof, where 
there were some children at play a couple of houses 
down from us. 

Kennedy began by dropping two strands of wire 
down to the ground in the back yard behind 
Vincenzo’s shop. Then he proceeded to lay two 
wires along the edge of the roof. 

We had worked only a little while when the 
children began to collect. However, Kennedy kept 
right on until we reached the tenement next to that 
in which Albano’s shop was. 

“ Walter,” he whispered, “ just get the children 
away for a minute now.” 

“ Look here, you kids,” I yelled, “ some of you 


THE BLACK HAND 


181 


will fall off if you get so close to the edge of the 
roof. Keep back.” 

It had no effect. Apparently they looked not a 
bit frightened at the dizzy mass of clothes-lines be¬ 
low us. 

“Say, is there a candy-store on this block?” I 
asked in desperation. 

“ Yes, sir,” came the chorus. 

“ Who’ll go down and get me a bottle of ginger 
ale?” I asked. 

A chorus of voices and glittering eyes was the 
answer. They all would. I took a half-dollar from 
my pocket and gave it to the oldest. 

“ All right now, hustle along, and divide the 
change.” 

With the scamper of many feet they were gone, 
and we were alone. Kennedy had now reached 
Albano’s and as soon as the last head had disap¬ 
peared below the scuttle of the roof he dropped two 
long strands down into the back yard, as he had 
done at Vincenzo’s. 

I started to go back, but he stopped me. 

“ Oh, that will never do,” he said. “ The kids 
will see that the wires end here. I must carry them 
on several houses farther as a blind and trust to 
luck that they don’t see the wires leading down be¬ 
low.” 

We were several houses down, still putting up 
wires when the crowd came shouting back, sticky 
with cheap trust-made candy and black with East 
Side chocolate. We opened the ginger ale and 


182 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


forced ourselves to drink it so as to excite no sus¬ 
picion, then a few minutes later descended the stairs 
of the tenement, coming out just above Albano’s. 

I was wondering how Kennedy was going to get 
into Albano’s again without exciting suspicion. He 
solved it neatly. 

“ Now, Walter, do you think you could stand an¬ 
other dip into the red ink of Albano’s?” 

I said I might in the interests of science and jus¬ 
tice — not otherwise. 

“ Well, your face is sufficiently dirty,” he com¬ 
mented, “ so that with the overalls you don’t look 
very much as you did the first time you went in. 
I don’t think they will recognize you. Do I look 
pretty good? ” 

“ You look like a coal-heaver out of a job,” I 
said. “ I can scarcely restrain my admiration.” 

“ All right. Then take this little glass bottle. 
Go into the back room and order something cheap, 
in keeping with your looks. Then when you are 
all alone break the bottle. It is full of gas drip¬ 
pings. Your nose will dictate what to do next. 
Just tell the proprietor you saw the gas company’s 
wagon on the next block and come up here and tell 
me.” 

I entered. There was a sinister-looking man, 
with a sort of unscrupulous intelligence, writing at 
a table. As he wrote and puffed at his cigar, I 
noticed a scar on his face, a deep furrow running 
from the lobe of his ear to his mouth. That, I 
knew, was a brand set upon him by the Camorra. 


THE BLACK HAND 


183 


I sat and smoked and sipped slowly for several min¬ 
utes, cursing him inwardly more for his presence 
than for his evident look of the “ mala vita” At 
last he went out to ask the barkeeper for a stamp. 

Quickly I tiptoed over to another corner of the 
room and ground the little bottle under my heel. 
Then I resumed my seat. The odor that pervaded 
the room was sickening. 

The sinister-looking man with the scar came in 
again and sniffed. I sniffed. Then the proprietor 
came in and sniffed. 

“ Say,” I said in the toughest voice I could as¬ 
sume, “ you got a leak. Wait. I seen the gas com¬ 
pany wagon on the next block when I came in. I’ll 
get the man.” 

I dashed out and hurried up the street to the 
place where Kennedy was waiting impatiently. 
Rattling his tools, he followed me with apparent 
reluctance. 

As he entered the wine-shop he snorted, after 
the manner of gas-men, “ Where’s de leak? ” 

“ You find-a da leak,” grunted Albano. “ What-a 
you get-a you pay for? You want-a me do your 
work? ” 

“ Well, half a dozen o’ you wops get out o’ here, 
that’s all. D’youse all wanter be blown ter pieces 
wid dem pipes and cigarettes? Clear out,” growled 
Kennedy. 

They retreated precipitately, and Craig hastily 
opened his bag of tools. 

“ Quick, Walter, shut the door and hold it,” ex- 


184 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

claimed Craig, working rapidly. He unwrapped a 
little package and took out a round, flat disk-like 
thing of black vulcanized rubber. Jumping up on 
a table, he fixed it to the top of the reflector over 
the gas-jet. 

“ Can you see that from the floor, Walter?” he 
asked under his breath. 

“ No,” I replied, “ not even when I know it is 
there.” 

Then he attached a couple of wires to it and 
led them across the ceiling toward the window, con¬ 
cealing them carefully by sticking them in the shadow 
of a beam. At the window he quickly attached the 
wires to the two that were dangling down from the 
roof and shoved them around out of sight. 

“ We’ll have to trust that no one sees them,” 
he said. “ That’s the best I can do at such short 
notice. I never saw a room so bare as this, any¬ 
way. There isn’t another place I could put that 
thing without its being seen.” 

We gathered up the broken glass of the gas-drip- 
pings bottle, and I opened the door. 

“ It’s all right, now,” said Craig, sauntering out 
before the bar. “ Only de next time you has any- 
t’ing de matter call de company up. I ain’t sup¬ 
posed to do dis wit’out orders, see? ” 

A moment later I followed, glad to get out of 
the oppressive atmosphere, and joined him in the 
back of Vincenzo’s drug-store, where he was again at 
work. As there was no back window there, it was 
quite a job to lead the wires around the outside from 


THE BLACK HAND 


185 


the back yard and in at a side window. It was at 
last done, however, without exciting suspicion, and 
Kennedy attached them to an oblong box of weath¬ 
ered oak and a pair of specially constructed dry 
batteries. 

“ Now,” said Craig, as we washed off the stains 
of work and stowed the overalls back in the suit¬ 
case, “ that is done to my satisfaction. I can tell 
Gennaro to go ahead safely now and meet the 
Black-Handers.” 

From Vincenzo’s we walked over toward Centre 
Street, where Kennedy and I left Luigi to return 
to his restaurant, with instructions to be at Vin¬ 
cenzo’s at half-past eleven that night. 

We turned into the new police headquarters and 
down the long corridor to the Italian Bureau. 
Kennedy sent in his card to Lieutenant Giuseppe in 
charge, and we were quickly admitted. The lieuten¬ 
ant was a short, full-faced, fleshy Italian, with light¬ 
ish hair and eyes that were apparently dull, until 
you suddenly discovered that that was merely a 
cover to their really restless way of taking in every¬ 
thing and fixing the impressions on his mind, as if 
on a sensitive plate. 

“ I want to talk about the Gennaro case,” began 
Craig. “ I may add that I have been rather closely 
associated with Inspector O’Connor of the Central 
Office on a number of cases, so that I think we can 
trust each other. Would you mind telling me what 
you know about it if I promise you that I, too, have 
something to reveal?” 


186 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


The lieutenant leaned back and watched Kennedy 
closely without seeming to do so. “ When I was 
in Italy last year,” he replied at length, “ I did a 
good deal of work in tracing up some Camorra sus¬ 
pects. I had a tip about some of them to look up 
their records — I needn’t say where it came from, 
but it was a good one. Much of the evidence 
against some of those fellows who are being tried 
at Viterbo was gathered by the Carabinieri as a result 
of hints that I was able to give them — clues that 
were furnished to me here in America from the 
source I speak of. I suppose there is really no need 
to conceal it, though. The original tip came from 
a certain banker here in New York.” 

“ I can guess who it was,” nodded Craig. 

“ Then, as you know, this banker is a fighter. 
He'is the man who organized the White Hand — 
an organization which is trying to rid the Italian 
population of the Black Hand. His society had a 
lot of evidence regarding former members of both 
the Camorra in Naples and the Mafia in Sicily, as 
well as the Black Hand gangs in New York, Chicago, 
and other cities. Well, Cesare, as you know, is Gen- 
naro’s father-in-law. 

“ While I was in Naples looking up the record 
of a certain criminal I heard of a peculiar murder 
committed some years ago. There was an honest 
old music master who apparently lived the quiet¬ 
est and most harmless of lives. But it became 
known that he was supported by Cesare and had 
received handsome presents of money from him. 


THE BLACK HAND 


187 


The old man was, as you may have guessed, the 
first music teacher of Gennaro, the man who dis¬ 
covered him. One might have been at a loss to 
see how he could have an enemy, but there was one 
who coveted his small fortune. One day he was 
stabbed and robbed. His murderer ran out into the 
street, crying out that the poor man had been killed. 
Naturally the crowd rushed up in a moment, for it 
was in the middle of the day. Before the injured 
man could make it understood who had struck him 
the assassin was down the street and lost in the 
maze of old Naples where he well knew the houses 
of his friends who would hide him. The man 
who is known to have committed that crime — 
Francesco Paoli — escaped to New York. We are 
looking for him to-day. He is a clever man, far 
above the average — son of a doctor in a town a 
few miles from Naples, went to the university, was 
expelled for some mad prank — in short, he was the 
black sheep of the family. Of course over here he 
is too high-born to work with his hands on a railroad 
or in a trench, and not educated enough to work 
at anything else. So he has been preying on his 
more industrious countrymen — a typical case of a 
man living by his wits with no visible means of sup¬ 
port. 

“ Now I don’t mind telling you in strict con¬ 
fidence,” continued the lieutenant, “ that it’s my 
theory that old Cesare has seen Paoli here, knew 
he was wanted for that murder of the old music 
master, and gave me the tip to look up his record. 


188 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

At any rate Paoli disappeared right after I returned 
from Italy, and we haven’t been able to locate him 
since. He must have found out in some way that 
the tip to look him up had been given by the White 
Hand. He had been a Camorrista, in Italy, and 
had many ways of getting information here in 
America.” 

He paused, and balanced a piece of cardboard 
in his hand. 

“ It is my theory of this case that if we could 
locate this Paoli we could solve the kidnaping of 
little Adelina Gennaro very quickly. That’s his 
picture.” 

Kennedy and I bent over to look at it, and I 
started in surprise. It was my evil-looking friend 
with the scar on his cheek. 

“ Well,” said Craig, quietly handing back the card, 
“ whether or not he is the man, I know where we 
can catch the kidnapers to-night, Lieutenant.” 

It was Giuseppe’s turn to show surprise now. 

“ With your assistance I’ll get this man and the 
whole gang to-night,” explained Craig, rapidly 
sketching over his plan and concealing just enough 
to make sure that no matter how anxious the lieuten¬ 
ant was to get the credit he could not spoil the affair 
by premature interference. 

The final arrangement was that four of the best 
men of the squad were to hide in a vacant store 
across from Vincenzo’s early in the evening, long 
before any one was watching. The signal for them 
to appear was to be the extinguishing of the lights 


THE BLACK HAND 


189 


behind the colored bottles in the druggist’s window. 
A taxicab was to be kept waiting at headquarters 
at the same time with three other good men ready 
to start for a given address the moment the alarm 
was given over the telephone. 

We found Gennaro awaiting us with the great¬ 
est anxiety at the opera-house. The bomb at 
Cesare’s had been the last straw. Gennaro had al¬ 
ready drawn from his bank ten crisp one-thousand- 
dollar bills, and already had a copy of II Progresso 
in which he had hidden the money between the 
sheets. 

“ Mr. Kennedy,” he said, “ I am going to meet 
them to-night. They may kill me. See, I have pro¬ 
vided myself with a pistol — I shall fight, too, if nec¬ 
essary for my little Adelina. But if it is only money 
they want, they shall have it.” 

“ One thing I want to say,” began Kennedy. 

u No, no, no! ” cried the tenor. “ I will go — 
you shall not stop me.” 

“ I don’t wish to stop you,” Craig reassured him. 
“ But one thing — do exactly as I tell you, and I 
swear not a hair of the child’s head will be injured 
and we will get the blackmailers, too.” 

“How?” eagerly asked Gennaro. “What do 
you want me to do? ” 

“ All I want you to do is to go to Albano’s at 
the appointed time. Sit down in the back room. 
Get into conversation with them, and, above all, 
Signor, as soon as you get the copy of the Bollethio 
turn to the third page, pretend not to be able to 


190 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


read the address. Ask the man to read it. Then 
repeat it after him. Pretend to be overjoyed. 
Offer to set up wine for the whole crowd. Just a 
few minutes, that is all I ask, and I will guarantee 
that you will be the happiest man in New York 
to-morrow.” 

Gennaro’s eyes filled with tears as he grasped 
Kennedy’s hand. “ That is better than having the 
whole police force back of me,” he said. “ I shall 
never forget, never forget.” 

As we went out Kennedy remarked: “ You can’t 
blame them for keeping their troubles to them¬ 
selves. Here we send a police officer over to Italy 
to look up the records of some of the worst suspects. 
He loses his life. Another takes his place. Then 
after he gets back he is set to work on the mere 
clerical routine of translating them. One of his as¬ 
sociates is reduced in rank. And so what does it 
come to? Hundreds of records have become useless 
because the three years within which the criminals 
could be deported have elapsed with nothing done. 
Intelligent, isn’t it? I believe it has been established 
that all but about fifty of seven hundred known 
Italian suspects are still at large, mostly in this city. 
And the rest of the Italian population is guarded 
from them by a squad of police in number scarcely 
one-thirtieth of the number of known criminals. 
No, it’s our fault if the Black Hand thrives.” 

We had been standing on the corner of Broad¬ 
way, waiting for a car. 

“ Now, Walter, don’t forget. Meet me at the 


THE BLACK HAND 


191 


Bleecker Street station of the subway at eleven- 
thirty. I’m off to the university. I have some very 
important experiments with phosphorescent salts 
that I want to finish to-day.” 

“What has that to do with the case?” I asked 
mystified. 

“ Nothing,” replied Craig. “ I didn’t say it had. 
At eleven-thirty, don’t forget. By George, though, 
that Paoli must be a clever one — think of his know¬ 
ing about ricin. I only heard of it myself recently. 
Well, here’s my car. Good-bye.” 

Craig swung aboard an Amsterdam Avenue car, 
leaving me to kill eight nervous hours of my weekly 
day of rest from the Star. 

They passed at length, and at precisely the ap¬ 
pointed time Kennedy and I met. With suppressed 
excitement, at least on my part, we walked over to 
Vincenzo’s. At night this section of the city was 
indeed a black enigma. The lights in the shops 
where olive oil, fruit, and other things were sold, 
were winking out one by one; here and there strains 
of music floated out of the wine-shops, and little 
groups lingered on corners conversing in animated 
sentences. We passed Albano’s on the other side 
of the street, being careful not to look at it too 
closely, for several men were hanging idly about — 
pickets, apparently, with some secret code that would 
instantly have spread far and wide the news of any 
alarming action. 

At the corner we crossed and looked in Vincenzo’s 
window a moment, casting a furtive glance across 


192 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


the street at the dark empty store where the police 
must be hiding. Then we went in and casually 
sauntered back of the partition. Luigi was there 
already. There were several customers still in the 
store, however, and therefore we had to sit in silence 
while Vincenzo quickly finished a prescription and 
waited on the last one. 

At last the doors were locked and the lights 
lowered, all except those in the windows which were 
to serve as signals. 

“ Ten minutes to twelve,” said Kennedy, placing 
the oblong box on the table. “ Gennaro will be 
going in soon. Let us try this machine now and 
see if it works. If the wires have been cut since 
we put them up this morning Gennaro will have 
to take his chances alone.” 

Kennedy reached over and with a light move¬ 
ment of his forefinger touched a switch. 

Instantly a babel of voices filled the store, all 
talking at once, rapidly and loudly. Here and there 
we could distinguish a snatch of conversation, a 
word, a phrase, now and then even a whole sentence 
above the rest. There was the clink of glasses. 
I could hear the rattle of dice on a bare table, and 
an oath. A cork popped. Somebody scratched a 
match. 

We sat bewildered, looking at Kennedy for an 
explanation. 

“ Imagine that you are sitting at a table in 
Albano’s back room,” was all he said. “ This is 
what you would be hearing. This is my ‘ electric 


THE BLACK HAND 


193 


ear ’— in other words the dictograph, used, I am 
told, by the Secret Service of the United States. 
Wait, in a moment you will hear Gennaro come 
in. Luigi and Vincenzo, translate what you hear. 
My knowledge of Italian is pretty rusty.” 

“ Can they hear us? ” whispered Luigi in an awe¬ 
struck whisper. 

Craig laughed. “ No, not yet. But I have only 
to touch this other switch, and I could produce an 
effect in that room that would rival the famous 
writing on Belshazzar’s wall — only it would be a 
voice from the wall instead of writing.” 

“ They seem to be waiting for some one,” said 
Vincenzo. “ I heard somebody say: ‘ He will be 
here in a few minutes. Now get out.’ ” 

The babel of voices seemed to calm down as men 
withdrew from the room. Only one or two were 
left. 

“ One of them says the child is all right. She 
has been left in the back yard,” translated Luigi. 

“What yard? Did he say?” asked Kennedy. 

“No; they just speak of it as the ‘yard,’” re¬ 
plied Luigi. 

“ Jameson, go outside in the store to the tele¬ 
phone booth and call up headquarters. Ask them 
if the automobile is ready, with the men in it.” 

I rang up, and after a moment the police central 
answered that everything was right. 

“Then tell central to hold the line clear — we 
mustn’t lose a moment. Jameson, you stay in the 
booth. Vincenzo, you pretend to be working 


194 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


around your window, but not in such a way as to 
attract attention, for they have men watching the 
street very carefully. What is it, Luigi? ” 

“ Gennaro is coming. I just heard one of them 
say, ‘ Here he comes.’ ” 

Even from the booth I could hear the dicto¬ 
graph repeating the conversation in the dingy little 
back room of Albano’s, down the street. 

“ He’s ordering a bottle of red wine,” murmured 
Luigi, dancing up and down with excitement. 

Vincenzo was so nervous that he knocked a bottle 
down in the window, and I believe that my heart¬ 
beats were almost audible over the telephone which 
I was holding, for' the police operator called me 
down for asking so many times if all was ready. 

“There it is — the signal,” cried Craig. “‘A 
fine opera is “ I Pagliacci.” ’ Now listen for the 
answer.” 

A moment elapsed, then, “ Not without Gennaro,” 
came a gruff voice in Italian from the dictograph. 

A silence ensued. It was tense. 

“ Wait, wait,” said a voice which I recognized 
instantly as Gennaro’s. “ I cannot read this. 
What is this, 23 ]/ 2 Prince Street?” 

“ No, 33 She has been left in the back yard,” 
answered the voice. 

“ Jameson,” called Craig, “ tell them to drive 
straight to 33^ Prince Street. They will find the 
girl in the back yard — quick, before the Black- 
Handers have a chance to go back on their word.” 

I fairly shouted my orders to the police head- 


THE BLACK HAND 


195 


quarters. “ They’re off,” came back the answer, 
and I hung up the receiver. 

“What was that?” Craig was asking of Luigi. 
“ I didn’t catch it. What did they say? ” 

“ That other voice said to Gennaro, ‘ Sit down 
while I count this.’ ” 

“ Sh! he’s talking again.” 

“ If it is a penny less than ten thousand or I find 
a mark on the bills I’ll call to Enrico, and your 
daughter will be spirited away again,” translated 
Luigi. 

“ Now, Gennaro is talking,” said Craig. “ Good 
— he is gaining time. He is a trump. I can dis¬ 
tinguish that all right. He’s- asking the gruff¬ 
voiced fellow if he will have another bottle of wine. 
He says he will. Good. They must be at Prince 
Street now — we’ll give them a few minutes more, 
not too much, for word will be back to Albano’s like 
wildfire, and they will get Gennaro after all. Ah, 
they are drinking again. What was that, Luigi? 
The money is all right, he says? Now, Vincenzo, 
out with the lights! ” 

A door banged open across the street, and four 
huge dark figures darted out in the direction of 
Albano’s. 

With his finger Kennedy pulled down the other 
switch and shouted: “Gennaro, this is Kennedy! 
To the street! Polizia! Polizia! ” 

A scuffle and a cry of surprise followed. A second 
voice, apparently from the bar, shouted, “ Out with 
the lights, out with the lights! ” 


196 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

Bang! went a pistol, and another. 

The dictograph, which had been all sound a mo¬ 
ment before, was as mute as a cigar-box. 

“ What’s the matter? ” I asked Kennedy, as he 
rushed past me. 

“ They have shot out the lights. My receiving 
instrument is destroyed. Come on, Jameson ; 
Vincenzo, stay back, if you don’t want to appear in 
this.” 

A short figure rushed by me, faster even than I 
could go. It was the faithful Luigi. 

In front of Albano’s an exciting fight was going 
on. Shots were being fired wildly in the darkness, 
and heads were popping out of tenement windows 
on all sides. As Kennedy and I flung ourselves into 
the crowd we caught a glimpse of Gennaro, with 
blood streaming from a cut on his shoulder, strug¬ 
gling with a policeman while Luigi vainly was try¬ 
ing to interpose himself between them. A man, 
held by another policeman, was urging the first officer 
on. “ That’s the man,” he was crying. “ That’s 
the kidnapper. I caught him.” 

In a moment Kennedy was behind him. “ Paoli, 
you lie. You are the kidnapper. Seize him — he 
has the money on him. That other is Gennaro 
himself.” 

The policeman released the tenor, and both of 
them seized Paoli. The others were beating at the 
door, which was being frantically barricaded inside. 

Just then a taxicab came swinging up the street. 
Three men jumped out and added their strength to 


THE BLACK HAND 


197 


those who were battering down Albano’s barricade. 

Gennaro, with a cry, leaped into the taxicab. 
Over his shoulder I could see a tangled mass of dark 
brown curls, and a childish voice lisped: “Why 
didn’t you come for me, papa? The bad man told 
me if I waited in the yard you would come for me. 
But if I cried he said he would shoot me. And I 
waited, and waited—” 

“There, there, ’Lina; papa’s going to take you 
straight home to mother.” 

A crash followed as the door yielded, and the 
famous Paoli gang was in the hands of the law. 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 

By Anna Katherine Green 

Miss Strange was not often pensive — at least not 
at large functions or when under the public eye. But 
she certainly forgot herself at Mrs. Provost’s mu- 
sicale and that, too, without apparent reason. Had 
the music been of a high order one might have under¬ 
stood her abstraction; but it was of a decidedly medi¬ 
ocre quality, and Violet’s ear was much too fine and 
her musical sense too cultivated for her to be be¬ 
guiled by anything less than the very best. 

Nor had she the excuse of a dull companion. Her 
escort for the evening was a man of unusual con¬ 
versational powers; but she seemed to be almost ob¬ 
livious of his presence; and when, through some 
passing courteous impulse, she did turn her ear his 
way, it was with just that tinge of preoccupation 
which betrays the divided mind. 

Were her thoughts with some secret problem yet 
unsolved? It would scarcely seem so from the gay 
remark with which she had left home. She was 
speaking to her brother and her words were: “ I am 
going out to enjoy myself. I’ve not a care in the 
world. The slate is quite clean.” Yet she had 

From “The Golden Slipper, and Other Problems for Violet 
Strange,” Copyright, 1915, by Anna Katherine Rohlfs. 

199 . 


200 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


never seemed more out of tune with her surroundings 
nor shown a mood further removed from trivial en¬ 
tertainment. What had happened to becloud her 
gaiety in the short time which had since elapsed? 

We can answer in a sentence. 

She had seen, among a group of young men in a 
distant doorway, one with a face so individual and 
of an expression so extraordinary that all interest in 
the people about her had stopped as a clock stops 
when the pendulum is held back. She could see 
nothing else, think of nothing else. Not that it was 
so very handsome — though no other had ever ap¬ 
proached it in its power over her imagination — but 
because of its expression of haunting melancholy,— 
a melancholy so settled and so evidently the result of 
long-continued sorrow that her interest had been 
reached and her heart-strings shaken as never before 
in her whole life. 

She would never be the same Violet again. 

Yet moved as she undoubtedly was, she was not 
conscious of the least desire to know who the young 
man was, or even to be made acquainted with his 
story. She simply wanted to dream her dream un¬ 
disturbed. 

It was therefore with a sense of unwelcome shock 
that, in the course of the reception following the pro¬ 
gram, she perceived this same young man approach¬ 
ing herself, with his right hand touching his left 
shoulder in the peculiar way which committed her to 
an interview with or without a formal introduction. 

Should she fly the ordeal? Be blind and deaf to 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


201 


whatever was significant in his action, and go her 
way before he reached her; thus keeping her dream 
intact? Impossible. His eye prevented that. 
His glance had caught hers and she felt forced to 
await his advance and give him her first spare mo¬ 
ment. 

It came soon, and when it came she greeted him 
with a smile. It was the first she had ever bestowed 
in welcome of a confidence of whose tenor she was 
entirely ignorant. 

To her relief he showed his appreciation of the 
dazzling gift though he made no effort to return it. 
Scorning all preliminaries in his eagerness to dis¬ 
charge himself of a burden which was fast becoming 
intolerable, he addressed her at once in these words: 

“ You are very good, Miss Strange, to receive me 
in this unconventional fashion. I am in that des¬ 
perate state of mind which precludes etiquette. 
Will you listen to my petition? I am told — you 
know by whom —” (and he again touched his shoul¬ 
der) “ that you have resources of intelligence which 
especially fit you to meet the extraordinary difficulties 
of my position. May I beg you to exercise them 
in my behalf? No man would be more grateful if 
— But I see that you do not recognize me. I am 
Roger Upjohn. That I am admitted to this gather¬ 
ing is owing to the fact that our hostess knew and 
loved my mother. In my anxiety to meet you and 
proffer my plea, I was willing to brave the cold 
looks you have probably noticed on the faces of the 
people about us. But I have no right to subject 
you to criticism. I-” 



202 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Remain.” Violet’s voice was troubled, her self- 
possession disturbed; but there was a command in 
her tone which he was only too glad to obey. “ I 
know the name ” (who did not!) “ and possibly my 
duty to myself should make me shun a confidence 
which may burden me without relieving you. But 
you have been sent to me by one whose behests I feel 
bound to respect and-” 

Mistrusting her voice, she stopped. The suffer¬ 
ing which made itself apparent in the face before her 
appealed to her heart in a way to rob her of her 
judgment. She did not wish this to be seen, and so 
fell silent. 

He was quick to take advantage of her obvious 
embarrassment. “ Should I have been sent to you 
if I had not first secured the confidence of the sender? 
You know the scandal attached to my name, some 
of it just, some of it very unjust. If you will grant 
me an interview to-morrow, I will make an endeavor 
to refute certain charges which I have hitherto let 
go unchallenged. Will you do me this favor? Will 
you listen in your own house to what I have to say? ” 

Instinct cried out against any such concession on 
her part, bidding her beware of one who charmed 
without excellence and convinced without reason. 
But compassion urged compliance and compassion 
won the day. Though conscious of weakness — she, 
Violet Strange, on whom strong men had come to 
rely in critical hours calling for well-balanced judg¬ 
ment— she did not let this concern her, or allow 
herself to indulge in useless regrets even after the 



THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


203 


first effect of his presence had passed and she had 
succeeded in recalling the facts which had cast a 
cloud about his name. 

Roger Upjohn was a widower, and the scandal af¬ 
fecting him was connected with his wife’s death. 

Though a degenerate in some respects, lacking the 
domineering presence, the strong mental qualities, 
and inflexible character of his progenitors, the 
wealthy Massachusetts Upjohns whose great place 
on the coast had a history as old as the State itself, 
he yet had gifts and attractions of his own which 
would have made him a worthy representative of his 
race, if only he had not fixed his affections on a 
woman so cold and heedless that she would have in¬ 
spired universal aversion instead of love, had she not 
been dowered with the beauty and physical fascina¬ 
tion which sometimes accompany a hard heart and a 
scheming brain. It was this beauty which had 
caught the lad; and one day, just as the carefi 1 father 
had mapped out a course of study calculated to make 
a man of his son, that son drove up to the gates with 
this lady whom he introduced as his wife. 

The shock, not of her beauty, though that was of 
the dazzling quality which catches a man in the 
throat and makes a slave of him while the first sur¬ 
prise lasts, but of the overthrow of all his hopes and 
plans, nearly prostrated Homer Upjohn. He saw, 
as most men did the moment judgment returned, that 
for all her satin skin and rosy flush, the wonder of 
her hair and the smile which pierced like arrows and 
warmed like wine, she was more likely to bring a 
curse into the house than a blessing. 


204 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


And so it proved. In less than a year the young 
husband had lost all his ambitions and many of his 
best impulses. No longer inclined to study, he spent 
his days in satisfying his wife’s whims and his even¬ 
ings in carousing with the friends with which she had 
provided him. This in Boston whither they had fled 
from the old gentleman’s displeasure; but after their 
little son came the father insisted upon their return¬ 
ing home, which led to great deceptions, and precipi¬ 
tated a tragedy no one ever understood. They were 
natural gamblers — this couple — as all Boston 
society knew; and as Homer Upjohn loathed cards, 
they found life slow in the great house and grew 
correspondingly restless till they made a discovery 
— 1 or shall I say a rediscovery — of the once famous 
grotto hidden in the rocks lining their portion of the 
coast. Here they found a retreat where they could 
hide themselves (often when they were thought to be 
abed and asleep) and play together for money or for 
a supper in the city or for anything else that foolish 
fancy suggested. This was while their little son re¬ 
mained an infant; later, they were less easily satisfied. 
Both craved company, excitement, and gambling on a 
large scale; so they took to inviting friends to meet 
them in this grotto which, through the agency of one 
old servant devoted to Roger to the point of folly, 
had been fitted up and lighted in a manner not only 
comfortable but luxurious. A small but sheltered 
haven hidden in the curve of the rocks made an ap¬ 
proach by boat feasible at high tide; and at low the 
connection could be made by means of a path over 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


205 


the promontory in which this grotto lay concealed. 
The fortune which Roger had inherited from his 
mother made these excesses possible, but many thou¬ 
sands, let alone the few he could call his, soon disap¬ 
peared under the witchery of an irresponsible woman, 
and the half-dozen friends who knew his secret had 
to stand by and see his ruin, without daring to utter 
a word to the one who alone could stay it. For 
Homer Upjohn was not a man to be approached 
lightly, nor was he one to listen to charges without 
ocular proof to support them; and this called for 
courage, more courage than was possessed by any 
one who knew them both. 

He was a hard man was Homer Upjohn, but 
with a heart of gold for those he loved. This, even 
his wary daughter-in-law was wise enough to detect, 
and for a long while after the birth of her child she 
besieged him with her coaxing ways and bewitching 
graces. But he never changed his first opinion of 
her, and once she became fully convinced of the folly 
of her efforts, she gave up all attempt to please him 
and showed an open indifference. This in time grad¬ 
ually extended till it embraced not only her child but 
her husband as well. Yes, it had come to that. His 
love no longer contented her. Her vanity had 
grown by what it daily fed on, and now called for 
the admiration of the fast men who sometimes came 
up from Boston to play with them in their unholy re¬ 
treat. To win this, she dressed like some demon 
queen or witch, though it drove her husband into 
deeper play and threatened an exposure which would 


206 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


mean disaster not only to herself but to the whole 
family. 

In all this, as any one could see, Roger had been 
her slave and the willing victim of all her caprices. 
What was it, then, which so completely changed him 
that a separation began to be talked of and even its 
terms discussed? One rumor had it that the father 
had discovered the secret of the grotto and exacted 
this as a penalty from the son who had dishonored 
him. Another, that Roger himself was the one to 
take the initiative in this matter. That, on return¬ 
ing unexpectedly from New York one evening and 
finding her missing from the house, he had traced 
her to the grotto where he came upon her playing 
a desperate game with the one man he had the 
greatest reason to distrust. 

But whatever the explanation of this sudden 
change in their relations, there is but little doubt that 
a legal separation between this ill-assorted couple 
was pending, when one bleak autumn morning she 
was discovered dead in her bed under circumstances 
peculiarly open to comment. 

The physicians who made out the certificate 
ascribed her death to heart-disease, symptoms of 
which had lately much alarmed the family doctor; 
but that a personal struggle of some kind had pre¬ 
ceded the fatal attack was evident from the bruises 
which blackened her wrists. Had there been the 
like upon her throat it might have gone hard with 
the young husband who was known to be contemplat¬ 
ing her dismissal from the house. But the discolora- 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


207 


tion of her wrists was all, and as bruised wrists do 
not kill and there was besides no evidence forth¬ 
coming of the two having spent one moment together 
for at least ten hours preceding the tragedy but 
rather full and satisfactory testimony to the contrary, 
the matter lapsed and all criminal proceedings were 
avoided. 

But not the scandal which always follows the un¬ 
explained. As time passed and the peculiar look 
which betrays the haunted soul gradually became 
visible in the young widower’s eyes, doubts arose and 
reports circulated which cast strange reflections upon 
the tragic end of his mistaken marriage. Stories of 
the disreputable use to which the old grotto had been 
put were mingled with vague hints of conjugal 
violence never properly investigated. The result 
was his general avoidance not only by the social set 
dominated by his high-minded father, but by his own 
less reputable coterie, which, however lax in its moral 
code, had very little use for a coward. 

Such was the gossip which had reached Violet’s 
ears in connection with this new client, prejudicing 
her altogether against him till she caught that beam 
of deep and concentrated suffering in his eye and 
recognized an innocence which ensured her sympathy 
and led her to grant him the interview for which he 
so earnestly entreated. 

He came prompt to the hour, and when she* saw 
him again with the marks of a sleepless night upon 
him and all the signs of suffering intensified in his 
unusual countenance, she felt her heart sink within 


208 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


her in a way she failed to understand. A dread of 
what she was about to hear robbed her of all sem¬ 
blance of self-possession, and she stood like one in 
a dream as he uttered his first greetings and then 
paused to gather up his own moral strength before 
he began his story. When he did speak it was to 
say : 

“ I find myself obliged to break a vow I have made 
to myself. You cannot understand my need unless 
I show you my heart. My trouble is not the one 
with which men have credited me. It has another 
source and is infinitely harder to bear. Personal 
dishonor I have deserved in a greater or less degree, 
but the trial which has come to me now involves a 
person more dear to me than myself, and is totally 
without alleviation unless you —” He paused, 
choked, then recommenced abruptly: “My wife” 

— Violet held her breath —“ was supposed to have 
died from heart-disease or — or some strange species 
of suicide. There were reasons for this conclusion 

— reasons which I accepted without serious question 

till some five weeks ago when I made a discovery 
which led me to fear-” 

The broken sentence hung suspended. Violet, 
notwithstanding his hurried gesture, could not re¬ 
strain herself stealing a look at his face. It was set 
in horror and, though partially turned aside, made an 
appeal to her compassion to fill the void made by his 
silence, without further suggestion from him. 

She did this by saying tentatively and with as little 
show of emotion as possible: 



THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


209 


“ You feared that the event called for vengeance 
and that vengeance would mean increased suffering 
to yourself as well as to another? ” 

“Yes; great suffering. But I may be under a 
most lamentable mistake. I am not sure of my con¬ 
clusions. If my doubts have no real foundation — 
if they are simply the offspring of my own diseased 
imagination, what an insult to one I revere! What 

a horror of ingratitude and misunderstanding-” 

“ Relate the facts,” came in startled tones from 
Violet. “ They may enlighten us.” 

He gave one quick shudder, buried his face for one 
moment in his hands, then lifted it and spoke up 
quickly and with unexpected firmness: 

“ I came here to do so and do so I will. But 
where begin? Miss Strange, you cannot be ignor¬ 
ant of the circumstances, open and avowed, which 
attended my wife’s death. But there were other and 
secret events in its connection which happily have 
been kept from the world, but which I must now dis¬ 
close to you at any cost to my pride and so-called 
honor. This is the first one: On the morning pre¬ 
ceding the day of Mrs. Upjohn’s death, an inter¬ 
view took place between us at which my father was 
present. You do not know my father, Miss Strange. 
A strong man and a stern one, with a hold upon old 
traditions which nothing can shake. If he has a 
weakness it is for my little boy Roger in whose 
promising traits he sees the one hope which has.sur¬ 
vived the shipwreck of all for which our name has 
stood. Knowing this, and realizing what the child’s 



210 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


presence in the house meant to his old age, I felt my 
heart turn sick with apprehension, when in the midst 
of the discussion as to the terms on which my wife 
would consent to a permanent separation, the little 
fellow came dancing into the room, his curls atoss 
and his whole face beaming with life and joy. 

“ She had not mentioned the child, but I knew her 
well enough to be sure that at the first show of pref¬ 
erence on his part for either his grandfather or 
myself, she would raise a claim to him which she 
would never relinquish. I dared not speak, but I 
met his eager looks with my most forbidding frown 
and hoped by this show of severity to hold him back. 
But his little heart was full and, ignoring her out¬ 
stretched arms, he bounded towards mine with his 
most affectionate cry. She saw and uttered her ulti¬ 
matum. The child should go with her or she would 
not consent to a separation. It was useless for us 
to talk; she had said her last word. The blow 
struck me hard, or so I thought, till I looked at my 
father. Never had I beheld such a change as that 
one moment had made in him. He stood as be¬ 
fore; he faced us with the same silent reprobation; 
but his heart had run from him like water. 

“ It was a sight to call up all my resources. To 
allow her to remain now, with my feelings towards 
her all changed and my father’s eyes fully opened to 
her stony nature, was impossible. Nor could I ap¬ 
peal to law. An open scandal was my father’s 
greatest dread and divorce proceedings his horror. 
The child would have to go unless I could find a way 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


211 


to influence her through her own nature. I knew 
of but one — do not look at me, Miss Strange. It 
was dishonoring to us both, and I am horrified now 
when I think of it. But to me at that time it was 
natural enough as a last resort. There was but one 
debt which my wife ever paid, but one promise she 
ever kept. It was that made at the gaming-table. 
I offered, as soon as my father, realizing the hope¬ 
lessness of the situation, had gone tottering from 
the room, to gamble with her for the child. 

“ And she accepted ” 

The shame and humiliation expressed in this final 
whisper; the sudden darkness — for a storm was 
coming up — shook Violet to the soul. With 
strained gaze fixed on the man before her, now little 
more than a shadow in the prevailing gloom, she 
waited for him to resume, and waited in vain. The 
minutes passed, the darkness became intolerable, and 
instinctively her hand crept towards the electric but¬ 
ton beneath which she was sitting. But she failed 
to press it. A tale so dark called for an atmos¬ 
phere of its own kind. She would cast no light upon 
it. Yet she shivered as the silence continued, and 
started in uncontrollable dismay when at length her 
strange visitor rose, and still, without spea'king, 
walked away from her to the other end of the room. 
Only so could he go on with the shameful tale; and 
presently she heard his voice once more in these 
words: 

“ Our house is large and its rooms many; but for 
such work as we two contemplated there was but one 


212 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


spot where we could command absolute seclusion. 
You may have heard of it, a famous natural grotto 
hidden in our own portion of the coast and so fitted 
up as to form a retreat for our miserable selves 
when escape from my father’s eye seemed desirable. 
It was not easy of access, and no one, so far as we 
knew, had ever followed us there. But to ensure 
ourselves against any possible interruption, we waited 
till the whole house was abed before we left it for 
the grotto. We went by boat and oh! the dip of 
those oars! I hear them yet. And the witchery of 
her face in the moonlight; and the mockery of her 
low fitful laugh! As I caught the sinister note in its 
silvery rise and fall, I knew what was before me if 
I failed to retain my composure. And I strove to 
hold it and to meet her calmness with stoicism and 
the taunt of her expression with a mask of immobil¬ 
ity. But the effort was hopeless, and when the time 
came for dealing out the cards, my eyes were burn¬ 
ing in their sockets and my hands shivering like 
leaves in a rising gale. 

“ We played one game — and my wife lost. We 
played another — and my wife won. We played 
the third — and the fate I had foreseen from the first 
became mine. The luck was with her, and I had 
lost my boy! )} 

A gasp — a pause, during which the thunder spoke 
and the lightning flashed — then a hurried catching 
of his breath and the tale went on. 

“ A burst of laughter, rising gaily above the boom 
of the sea, announced her victory — her laugh and 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


213 


the taunting words: ‘ You play badly, Roger. The 
child is mine. Never fear that I shall fail to teach 
him to revere his father.’ Had I a word to throw 
back? No. When I realized anything but my dis¬ 
honored manhood, I found myself in the grotto’s 
mouth staring helplessly out upon the sea. The 
boat which had floated us in at high tide lay stranded 
but a few feet away, but I did not reach for it. 
Escape was quicker over the rocks, and I made for 
the rocks. 

“ That it was a cowardly act to leave her there to 
find her way back alone at midnight by the same 
rough road I was taking, did not strike my mind for 
an instant. I was in flight from my own past; in 
flight from myself and the haunting dread of mad¬ 
ness. When I awoke to reality again it was to find 
the small door, by which we had left the house, stand¬ 
ing slightly ajar. I was troubled by this, for I was 
sure of having closed it. But the impression was 
brief, and entering, I went stumbling up to my room, 
leaving the way open behind me more from sheer 
inability to exercise my will than from any thought 
of her. 

“ Miss Strange ” (he had come out of the shadows 
and was standing now directly before her), “ I must 
ask you to trust implicitly in what I tell you of my 
further experiences that fatal night. It was not 
necessary for me to pass my little son’s door in 
order to reach the room I was making for; but 
anguish took me there and held me glued to the 
panels for what seemed a long, long time. When 


214 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


I finally crept away it was to go to the room I had 
chosen in the top of the house, where I had my hour 
of hell and faced my desolated future. Did I hear 
anything meantime in the halls below? No. Did 
I even listen for the sound of her return? No. I 
was callous to everything, dead to everything but my 
own misery. I did not even heed the approach of 
morning, till suddenly, with a shrillness no ear could 
ignore, there rose, tearing through the silence of the 
house, that great scream from my wife’s room which 
announced the discovery of her body lying stark and 
cold in her bed. 

“ They said I showed little feeling.” He had 
moved off again and spoke from somewhere in the 
shadows. “ Do you wonder at this after such a 
manifest stroke by a benevolent Providence? My 
wife being dead, Roger was saved to us! It was 
the one song of my still undisciplined soul, and I 
had to assume coldness lest they should see the great¬ 
ness of my joy. A wicked and guilty rejoicing you 
will say, and you are right. But I had no memory 
then of the part I had played in this fatality. I 
had forgotten my reckless flight from the grotto, 
which left her with no aid but that of her own tri¬ 
umphant spirit to help her over those treacherous 
rocks. The necessity for keeping secret this part of 
our disgraceful story led me to exert myself to keep 
it out of my own mind. It has only come back to 
me in all its force since a new horror, a new suspicion, 
has driven me to review carefully every incident of 
that awful night. 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


215 


“ I was never a man of much logic, and when they 
came to me on that morning of which I have just 
spoken and took me in where she lay and pointed 
to her beautiful cold body stretched o.ut in seeming 
peace under the satin coverlet, and then to the pile 
of dainty clothes lying neatly folded on a chair with 
just one fairy slipper on top, I shuddered at her fate 
but asked no questions, not even when one of the 
women of the house mentioned the circumstance of 
the single slipper and said that a search should be 
made for its mate. Nor was I as much impressed 
as one would naturally expect by the whisper dropped 
in my ear that something was the matter with her 
wrists. It is true that I lifted the lace they had 
carefully spread over them and examined the dis¬ 
coloration which extended like a ring about each 
pearly arm; but having no memories of any violence 
offered her (I had not so much as laid hand upon 
her in the grotto), these marks failed to rouse my 
interest. But — and now I must leap a year in 
my story — there came a time when both of these 
facts recurred to my mind with startling distinctness 
and clamored for explanation. 

“ I had risen above the shock which such a death- 
following such events would naturally occasion even 
in one of my blunted sensibilities, and was striving 
to live a new life under the encouragement of my 
now fully reconciled father, when accident forced 
me to re-enter the grotto where I had never stepped 
foot since that night. A favorite dog in chase of 
some innocent prey had escaped the leash and run 


216 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


into its dim recesses and would not come out at my 
call. As I needed him immediately for the hunt, I 
followed him over the promontory and, swallowing 
my repugnance, slid into the grotfco to get him. 
Better a plunge to my death from the height of the 
rocks towering above it. For there in a remote 
corner, lighted up by a reflection from the sea, I be¬ 
held my setter crouched above an object which in an¬ 
other moment I recognized as my dead wife’s miss¬ 
ing slipper. Here! Not in the waters of the sea or 
in the interstices of the rocks outside, but here! 
Proof that she had never walked back to the house 
where she was found lying quietly in her bed; proof 
positive; for I knew the path too well and the more 
than usual tenderness of her feet. 

“How then, did she get there; and by whose 
agency? Was she living when she went, or was she 
already dead? A year had passed since that deli¬ 
cate shoe had borne her from the boat into these dim 
recesses; but it might have been only a day, so vividly 
did I live over in this moment of awful enlighten¬ 
ment all the events of the hour in which we sat there 
playing for the possession of our child. Again I 
saw her gleaming eyes, her rosy, working mouth, her 
slim, white hand, loaded with diamonds, clutching 
the cards. Again I heard the lap of the sea on the 
pebbles outside and smelt the odor of the wine she 
had poured out for us both. The bottle which had 
held it; the glass from which she had drunk lay now 
in pieces on the rocky floor. The whole scene was 
mine again and as I followed the event to its despair- 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


217 


ing close, I seemed to see my own wild figure spring¬ 
ing away from her to the grotto’s mouth and so over 
the rocks. But here fancy faltered, caught by a 
quick recollection to which I had never given a 
thought till now. As I made my way along those 
rocks, a sound had struck my ear from where some 
stunted bushes made a shadow in the moonlight. 
The wind might have caused it or some small night 
creature hustling away at my approach; and to some 
such cause I must at the time have attributed it. But 
now, with brain fired by suspicion, it seemed more 
like the quick intake of a human breath. Some one 
had been lying there in wait, listening at the one loop¬ 
hole in the rocks where it was possible to hear what 
was said and done in the heart of the grotto. But 
who? who? and for what purpose this listening; and 
to what end did it lead? 

“ Though I no longer loved even the memory of 
my wife, I felt my hair lift, as I asked myself these 
questions. There seemed to be but one logical an¬ 
swer to the last, and it was this: A struggle followed 
by death. The shoe fallen from her foot, the 
clothes found folded in her room (my wife was never 
orderly), and the dimly blackened wrists which were 
snow-white when she dealt the cards — all seemed 
to point to such a conclusion. She may have died 
from heart-failure, but a struggle had preceded her 
death, during which some man’s strong fingers had 
been locked about her wrists. And again the ques¬ 
tion rose, Whose? 

“ If any place was ever hated by mortal man that 


218 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


grotto was hated by me. I loathed its walls, its 
floor, its very visible and invisible corner. To 
linger there — to look — almost tore my soul from 
my body; yet I did linger and did look and this is 
what I found by way of reward. 

“ Behind a projecting ledge of stone from which 
a tattered rug still hung, I came upon two nails 
driven a few feet apart in a fissure of the rock. I 
had driven those nails myself long before for a cer¬ 
tain gymnastic attachment much in vogue at the time, 
and on looking closer, I discovered hanging from 
them the rope-ends by which I was wont to pull 
myself about. So far there was nothing to rouse 
any but innocent reminiscences. But when I heard 
the dog’s low moan and saw him leap at the curled- 
up ends, and nose them with an eager look my way, 
I remembered the dark marks circling the wrists 
about which I had so often clasped my mother’s 
bracelets, and the world went black before me. 

“When consciousness returned — when I could 
once more move and see and think, I noted another 
fact. Cards were strewn about the floor, face up 
and in a fixed order as if laid in a mocking mood to 
be looked upon by reluctant eyes; and near the 
ominous half-circle they made, a cushion from the 
lounge, stained horribly with what I then thought to 
be blood, but which I afterwards found to be wine. 
Vengeance spoke in those ropes and in the carefully 
spread-out cards, and murder in the smothering pil¬ 
low. The vengeance of one who had watched her 
corroding influence eat the life out of my honor and 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


219 


whose love for our little Roger was such that any 
deed which ensured his continued presence in the 
home appeared not only warrantable but obligatory. 
Alas! I knew of but one person in the whole world 
who could cherish feeling to this extent or possess 
sufficient will power to carry her lifeless body back 
to the house and lay it in her bed and give no sign 
of the abominable act from that day on to this. 

“ Miss Strange, there are men who have a peculiar 
conception of duty. My father-” 

“ You need not go on.” How gently, how 
tenderly our Violet spoke. “ I understand your 
trouble-” 

Did she? She paused to ask herself if this were 
so, and he, deaf perhaps to her words, caught up his 
broken sentence and went on: 

“ My father was in the hall the day I came stag¬ 
gering in from my visit to the grotto. No words 
passed, but our eyes met and from that hour I have 
seen death in his countenance and he has seen it in 
mine, like two opponents, each struck to the heart, 
who stand facing each other with simulated smiles 
till they fall. My father will drop first. He is 
old — very old since that day five weeks ago; and to 
see him die and not be sure — to see the grave close 
over a possible innocence, and I left here in ignorance 
of the blissful fact till my own eyes close forever, 
is more than I can hold up under; more than any 
son could. Cannot you help me then to a positive 
knowledge? Think! think! A woman’s mind is 
strangely penetrating, and yours, I am told, has an 




220 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


intuitive faculty more to be relied upon than the 
reasoning of men. It must suggest some means of 
confirming my doubts or of definitely ending them.” 

Then Violet stirred and looked about at him and 
finally found voice. 

“ Tell me something about your father’s ways. 
What are his habits? Does he sleep well or is he 
wakeful at night ? ” 

“ He has poor nights. I do not know how poor 
because I am not often with him. His valet, who 
has always been in our family, shares his room and 
acts as his constant nurse. He can watch over him 
better than I can; he has no distracting trouble on his 
mind.” 

“ And little Roger? Does your father see much 
of little Roger? Does he fondle him and seem 
happy in his presence? ” 

“ Yes; yes. I have often wondered at it, but he 
does. They are great chums. It is a pleasure to 
see them together.” 

“ And the child clings to him — shows no fear — 
sits on his lap or on the bed and plays as children do. 
play with his beard or with his watch-chain?” 

“ Yes. Only once have I seen my little chap 
shrink, and that was when my father gave him a look 
of unusual intensity — looking for his mother in him 
perhaps.” 

“ Mr. Upjohn, forgive me the question; it seems 
necessary. Does your father — or rather did your 
father before he fell ill — ever walk in the direc¬ 
tion of the grotto or haunt in any way the rocks 
which surround it? ” 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


221 


“ I cannot say. The sea is there; he naturally 
lov r es the sea. But 1 have never seen him standing 
on the promontory.” 

“ Which way do his windows look? ” 

“ Towards the sea.” 

“Therefore towards the promontory?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Can he see it from his bed? ” 

“ No. Perhaps that is the cause of a peculiar 
habit he has.” 

“What habit?” 

“ Every night before he retires (he is not yet con¬ 
fined to his bed) he stands for a few minutes in his 
front window looking out. He says it’s his good¬ 
night to the ocean. When he no longer does this, 
we shall know that the end is very near.” 

The face of Violet began to clear. Rising, she 
turned on the electric light, and then, reseating her¬ 
self, remarked with an aspect of quiet cheer: 

“ I have two ideas; but they necessitate my pres¬ 
ence at your place. You will not mind a visit? My 
brother will accompany me.” 

Roger Upjohn did not need to speak, hardly to 
make a gesture; his expression was so eloquent. 

She thanked him as if he had answered in words, 
adding with an air of gentle reserve: “ Providence 
assists us in this matter. I am invited to Beverly 
next week to attend a wedding. I was intending to 
stay two days, but I will make it three and spend 
the extra one with you.” 

“ What are your requirements, Miss Strange? I 
presume you have some.” 


222 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Violet turned from the imposing portrait of Mr. 
Upjohn which she had been gravely contemplating, 
and met the troubled eye of her young host with an 
enigmatical flash of her own. But she made no 
answer in words. Instead, she lifted her right hand 
and ran one slender finger thoughtfully up the casing 
of the door near which they stood till it struck a 
nick in the old mahogany almost on a level with her 
head. 

“ Is your son Roger old enough to reach so far ? ” 
she asked with another short look at him as she let 
her finger rest where it had struck the roughened 
wood. “ I thought he was a little fellow.” 

“ He is. That cut was made by — by my wife; 
a sample of her capricious willfulness. She wished 
to leave a record of herself in the substance of our 
house as well as in our lives. That nick marks her 
height. She laughed when she made it. ‘ Till the 
walls cave in or burn,’ is what she said. And I 
thought her laugh and smile captivating.” 

Cutting short his own laugh which was much too 
sardonic for a lady’s ears, he made a move as if to 
lead the way into another portion of the room. But 
Violet failed to notice this, and lingering in quiet 
contemplation of this suggestive little nick — the 
only blemish in a room of ancient colonial magnifi¬ 
cence— she thoughtfully remarked: 

“Then she was a small woman?” adding with 
seeming irrelevance —“ like myself.” 

Roger winced. Something in the suggestion hurt 
him, and in the nod he gave there was an air of 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


223 


coldness which under ordinary circumstances would 
have deterred her from pursuing this subject further. 
But the circumstances were not ordinary, and she 
allowed herself to say: 

“ Was she so very different from me — in figure, 
I mean? ” 

“ No. Why do you ask? Shall we not join your 
brother on the terrace? ” 

u Not till I have answered the question you put me 
a moment ago. You wished to know my require¬ 
ments. One of the most important you have al¬ 
ready fulfilled. You have given your servants a 
half-holiday and by so doing ensured to us full liberty 
of action. What else I need in the attempt I pro¬ 
pose to make, you will find listed in this memoran¬ 
dum.” And taking a slip of paper from her bag, she 
offered it to him with a hand, the trembling of which 
he would have noted had he been freer in mind. 

As he read, she watched him, her fingers nervously 
clutching her throat. 

“ Can you supply what I ask? ” she faltered, as he 
failed to raise his eyes or make any move or even to 
utter the groan she saw urging up to his lips. “ Will 
you?” she impetuously urged, as his fingers closed 
spasmodically on the paper, in evidence that he un¬ 
derstood at last the trend of her daring purpose. 

The answer came slowly, but it came. “ I will. 
But what-” 

Her hand rose in a pleading gesture. 

“ Do not ask me, but take Arthur and myself into 
the garden and show us the flowers. Afterwards, I 
should like a glimpse of the sea.” 



224 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


He bowed and they joined Arthur who had already 
begun to stroll through the grounds. 

Violet was seldom at a loss for talk even at the 
most critical moments. But she was strangely 
tongue-tied on this occasion, as was Roger himself. 
Save for a few observations casually thrown out by 
Arthur, the three passed in a disquieting silence 
through pergola after pergola, and around beds gor¬ 
geous with every variety of fall flowers, till they 
turned a sharp corner and came in full view of the 
sea. 

“ Ah! ” fell in an admiring murmur from Violet’s 
lips as her eyes swept the horizon. Then as they 
settled on a mass of rock jutting out from the shore 
in a great curve, she leaned towards her host and 
softly whispered, 

“ The promontory? ” 

He nodded, and Violet ventured no farther, but 
stood for a little while gazing at the tumbled rocks. 
Then, with a quick look back at the house, she asked 
him to point out his father’s window. 

He did so, and as she noted how openly it faced 
the sea, her expression relaxed and her manner lost 
some of its constraint. As they turned to reenter 
the house, she noticed an old man picking flowers 
from a vine clambering over one end of the piazza. 

“ Who is that? ” she asked. 

“ Our oldest servant, and my father’s own man,” 
was Roger’s reply. “ He is picking my father’s 
favorite flowers, a few late honeysuckles.” 

“How fortunate! Speak to him, Mr. Upjohn. 
Ask him how your father is this evening.” 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


225 


“ Accompany me and I will; and do not be afraid 
to enter into conversation with him. He is the 
mildest of creatures and devoted to his patient. He 
likes nothing better than to talk about him.” 

Violet, with a meaning look at her brother, ran up 
the steps at Roger’s side. As she did so, the old man 
turned and Violet was astonished at the wistfulness 
with which he viewed her. 

“ What a dear old creature! ” she murmured. 

“ See how he stares this way. You would think he 
knew me.” 

“ He is glad to see a woman about the place. He * 
has felt our isolation — Good-evening, Abram. Let 
this young lady have a spray of your sweetest honey¬ 
suckle. And, Abram, before you go, how is Father 
to-night? Still sitting up?” 

“ Yes, sir. He is very regular in his ways. Nine 
is his hour; not a minute before and not a minute 
later. I don’t have to look at the clock when he 
says: ‘ There, Abram, I’ve sat up long enough.’ ” 

“ When my father retires before his time or goes 
to bed without a final look at the sea, he will be a very 
sick man, Abram.” 

“ That he will, Mr. Roger; that he will. But he’s 
very feeble to-night, very feeble. I noticed that he 
gave the boy fewer kisses than usual. Perhaps he 
was put out because the child was brought in a half- 
hour earlier than the stated time. He don’t like 
changes; you know that, Mr. Roger; he don’t like 
changes. I hardly dared to tell him that the serv¬ 
ants were all going out in a bunch to-night.” 


226 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ I’m sorry,” muttered Roger. “ But he’ll forget 
it by to-morrow. I couldn’t bear to keep a single 
one from the concert. They’ll be back in good sea¬ 
son and meantime we have you. Abram is worth 
half a dozen of them, Miss Strange. We shall 
miss nothing.” 

u Thank you, Mr. Roger, thank you,” faltered 
the old man. “ I try to do my duty.” And with 
another wistful glance at Violet, who looked very 
sweet and youthful in the half-light, he pottered 
away. 

The silence which followed his departure was as 
painful to her as to Roger Upjohn. When she 
broke it it was with this decisive remark: 

“ That man must not speak of me to your father. 
He must not even mention that you have a guest 
to-night. Run after him and tell him so. It is 
necessary that your father’s mind should not be taken 
up with present happenings. Run.” 

Roger made haste to obey her. When he came 
back she was on the point of joining her brother 
but stopped to utter a final injunction: 

“ I shall leave the library, or wherever we may 
be sitting, just as the clock strikes half-past eight. 
Arthur will do the same, as by that time he will feel 
like smoking on the terrace. Do not follow either 
him or myself, but take your stand here on the piazza 
where you can get a full view of the right-hand wing 
without attracting any attention to yourself. When 
you hear the big clock in the hall strike nine, look up 
quickly at your father’s window. What you see may 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


227 


determine— Oh, Arthur! still admiring the pro¬ 
spect? I do not wonder. But I find it chilly. Let 
us go in.” 

Roger Upjohn, sitting by himself in the library, 
was watching the hands of the mental clock slowly 
approaching the hour of nine. 

Never had silence seemed more oppressive nor 
his sense of loneliness greater. Yet the boom of the 
ocean was distinct to the ear, and human presence no 
farther away than the terrace where Arthur Strange 
could be seen smoking out his cigar in solitude. The 
silence and the loneliness were in Roger’s own soul; 
and, in face of the expected revelation which would 
make or unmake his future, the desolation they 
wrought was measureless. 

To cut his suspense short, he rose at length and 
hurried out to the spot designated by Miss Strange 
as the best point from which to keep watch upon his 
father’s window. It was at the end of the piazza 
where the honeysuckle hung, and the odor of the 
blossoms, so pleasing to his father, well-nigh over¬ 
powered him not only by its sweetness but by the 
many memories it called up. Visions of that father 
as he looked at all stages of their relationship passed 
in a bewildering maze before him. He saw him as 
he appeared to his childish eyes in those early days 
of confidence when the loss of the mother cast them 
in mutual dependence upon each other. Then a 
sterner picture of the relentless parent who sees but 
one straight course to success in this world and the 
next. Then the teacher and the matured adviser; 


228 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


and then — oh, bitter change! the man whose hopes 
he had crossed — whose life he had undone, and all 
for her who now came stealing upon the scene with 
her slim, white, jeweled hand forever lifted up be¬ 
tween them. And she! Had he ever seen her more 
clearly? Once more the dainty figure stepped from 
fairy-land, beauteous with every grace that can al¬ 
lure and finally destroy a man. And as he saw, he 
trembled and wished that these moments of awful 
waiting might pass and the test be over which would 
lay bare his father’s heart and justify his fears or 
dispel them forever. 

But the crisis, if crisis it was, was one of his own 
making and not to be hastened or evaded. With 
one quick glance at his father’s window, he turned in 
his impatience towards the sea whose restless and 
continuous moaning had at length struck his ear. 
What was in its call to-night that he should thus sway 
towards it as though drawn by some dread magnetic 
force? He had been born to the dashing of its 
waves and knew its every mood and all the passion 
of its song from frolicsome ripple to melancholy 
dirge. But there was something odd and inexplic¬ 
able in its effect upon his spirit as he faced it at this 
hour. Grim and implacable — a sound rather than 
a sight — it seemed to hold within its invisible dis¬ 
tances the image of his future fate. What this image 
was and why he should seek for it in this impene¬ 
trable void, he did not know. He felt himself held 
and was struggling with this influence as with an un¬ 
known enemy when there rang out, from the hall 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


229 


within, the preparatory chimes for which his ear was 
waiting, and then the nine slow strokes which sig¬ 
nalized the moment when he was to look for his 
father’s presence at the window. 

Had he wished, he could not have forborne that 
look. Had his eyes been closing in death, or so he 
felt, the trembling lids would have burst apart at this 
call and the revelations it promised. 

And what did he see? What did that window 
hold for him? 

Nothing that he might not have seen there any 
night at this hour. His father’s figure drawn up be¬ 
hind the panes in wistful contemplation of the night. 
No visible change in his attitude, nothing forced or 
unusual in his manner. Even the hand, lifted to 
pull down the shade, moves with its familiar hesita¬ 
tion. In a moment more that shade will be down 
and — But no ! the lifted hand falls back; the easy 
attitude becomes strained, fixed. He is staring now 
— not merely gazing out upon the wastes of sky and 
sea; and Roger, following the direction of his glance, 
stares also in breathless emotion at what those dis¬ 
tances, but now so impenetrable, are giving to the 
eye. 

A specter floating in the air above the promontory! 
The specter of a woman — of his wife, clad, as she 
had been clad that fatal night! Outlined in super¬ 
natural light, it faces them with lifted arms showing 
the ends of rope dangling from either wrist. A 
sight awful to any eye, but to the man of guilty 
heart- 



230 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Ah! it comes — the cry for which the agonized 
son had been listening! An old man’s shriek, hoarse 
with the remorse of sleepless nights and days of 
unimaginable regret and foreboding! It cuts the 
night. It cuts its way into his heart. He feels his 
senses failing him, yet he must glance once more at 
the window and see with his last conscious look — 
But what is this! a change has taken place in the 
picture and he beholds, not the distorted form of his 
father sinking back in shame and terror before this 
visible image of his secret sin, but that of another 
weak, old man falling to the floor behind his back! 
Abram! the attentive, seemingly harmless, guardian 
of the household! Abram! who had never spoken 
a word or given a look in any way suggestive of his 
having played any other part in the hideous drama 
of their lives than that of the humble and sympa¬ 
thetic servant! 

The shock was too great, the relief too absolute 
for credence. He, the listener at the grotto? He, 
the avenger of the family’s honor? He, the insurer 
of little Roger’s continuance with the family at a cost 
the one who loved him best would rather have died 
himself than pay ? Yes! there is no misdoubting this 
old servitor’s attitude of abject appeal, or the mean¬ 
ing of Homer Upjohn’s joyfully uplifted countenance 
and outspreading arms. The servant begs for mercy 
from man, and the master is giving thanks to 
Heaven. Why giving thanks? Has he been the 
prey of cankering doubts also? Has the father 
dreaded to discover that in the son which the son 
has dreaded to discover in the father? 


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 


231 


It might easily be; and as Roger recognizes this 
truth and the full tragedy of their mutual lives, he 
drops to his knees amid the honeysuckles. 

“ Violet, you are a wonder. But how did you 
dare?” 

This from Arthur as the two rode to the train 
in the early morning. 

The answer came a bit waveringly. 

“ I do not know. I am astonished yet, at my 
own daring. Look at my hands. They have not 
ceased trembling since the moment you threw the 
light upon me on the rocks. The figure of old Mr. 
Upjohn in the window looked so august.” 

Arthur, with a short glance at the little hands she 
held out, shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly. It 
struck him that the tremulousness she complained of 
was due more to some parting word from their young 
host, than from prolonged awe at her own daring. 
But he made no remark to this effect, only observed: 

“ Abram has confessed his guilt, I hear.” 

“ Yes, and will die of it. The master will bury 
the man, and not the man the master.” 

“And Roger? Not the little fellow, but the 
father?” 

“ We will not talk of him,” said she, her eyes seek¬ 
ing the sea where the sun in its rising was battling 
with a troop of lowering clouds and slowly gaining 
the victory. 







THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 

By Broughton Brandenburg 

The telephone bell in the outer office rang, and open¬ 
ing the switch at the side of my desk I took up my 
stand-’phone and answered. 

“Hello. Well?” 

“ Hello, is this Duncan & Betts? ” inquired a man’s 
voice with a slight foreign accent. 

“ Yes.” 

“ I want to speak wit’ Mister Lawrence Duncan.” 

“ This is Mr. Duncan. What can I do for you? ” 

“ T’is is Mr. Martin Anderson, of 196 Gramercy 
Park. Yust now while I was eating my breakwast in 
my rooms over my real estate office, I was called to 
my telephone by Mr. George Rhodes, who is in t’e 
Municipal Bank. He is a young man who wants to 
marry my daughter Marie, and he called me up to 
tell me t’at when he opened t’e wault a little while 
ago, he found t’at since he closed it t’e night before, 
a package wit’ more t’an a million dollars in bonds 
was gone. He is responsible for t’e wault, and no 
one else, and he called me up to tell me, and say he 
did not take it, to tell Marie t’at, but he wit’drew his 
request for her hand. Now t’en, Mr. Duncan, I 

Copyright, 1905, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company. By 
permission. 


234 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

don’t care one tarn about him, but my daughter must 
not be made to come in t’is case wit’ t’e noos-papers 
or t’e gossip, so I want you to go over to t’e bank 
and see him and help him out in every way, yust so 
he keep his mout’ shut about Marie, and if t’ey lock 
him up I want t’at she don’t go to see him or no such 
foolishness. I send you my check for five hundred 
t’is morning, and I want to know all about what you 
do, at my house to-night. Will you do it? ” 

“ Yes. I will go over at once,” I answered. 

“ T’at is all. Good-by—” 

“ Thank you. Good-by. I will call this eve¬ 
ning.” 

“ Good-by, Mr. Duncan.” 

My first impression as I hung up the receiver was 
a thrill at being thus thrust into the center of what 
appeared to be one of the biggest cases which had 
transpired in years. My second was a pleasurable 
recognition of the crisp, direct, clear, and ample state¬ 
ment of the matter which the old real estate man had 
made. It had all been done in two minutes or less. 
It is not often that we lawyers encounter people out¬ 
side of our own and the newspaper profession, who 
can state anything so concisely and not lose any value 
in it. 

At this moment, Betts, my partner, and the stenog¬ 
rapher came in, so I hurried over to the Municipal 
Bank. 

Business was just beginning for the day. I could 
see at a glance over the men behind the brass screens 
that they as a whole did not as yet know that the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 235 

bank was a loser by a million. The cashier’s door 
was open, and he was just smoothing out his morn¬ 
ing’s mail in the calmest of manners. No one looked 
up as I entered; that showed normal state of mind 
among the clerks. 

I asked for Mr. George Rhodes, and a tall, broad- 
shouldered, clean-cut, young chap came forward from 
a desk in the extreme rear of the place and took my 
card through the bars. Even with the slight view I 
could get of his face, I perceived he was pale and 
haggard. He opened a side door and admitted me 
to the anteroom of the directors’ chamber. I told 
him I had come in his interest, retained by Mr. 
Anderson, and stated my client’s reason for sending 
me, namely, to prevent his daughter’s name from 
being mentioned in the matter at any or all times, 
and asked the young man what I could do for him. 

He had been sitting running his thumb-nail pre¬ 
cisely along the edge of my card, and.now he looked 
up and said, in a dull, expressionless way, 

“ Really, Mr. Duncan, I have thought the matter 
over carefully, and there is nothing to do.” 

He seemed so numbed and hopeless that I was 
amused. 

“ You surprise me, Mr. Rhodes,” I said. “ Surely 
a thing like this cannot in itself shut off any action. 
In the first place, give me the facts. We will see 
what can be done.” 

“ The facts are few enough,” he answered simply. 

“ The bonds were in a package four inches thick. 
They were ’90 government fours, clipped and worth 


236 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


one million, two hundred thousand, when entered the 
first of the month, three weeks ago. They were 
marked with a typewritten slip on the end, and lay 
in the securities compartment of the vault. Last 
night, with the assistant cashier and the receiving 
teller, as is our rule here, I checked the cash and 
books going in. We together do not check securities 
in that compartment, except once every month, but 
I go over them every night and morning in the way 
that I was instructed by the cashier — that is, the 
packets are piled in alphabetical classification, and 
the piling is done so that if a packet were taken out, 
it would make a hole which I should see at a glance, 
and by reference to my list see what it was. Last 
night there was nothing missing, for the pile was 
perfectly even across the top, and we closed the vault 
and set the time-lock. This morning the time-lock 
was still running when I arrived, and the safe was 
absolutely just as I left it. When I opened the vault, 
I went over the securities as usual, and observing a 
slight depression in the rear tier, put my hand on it. 
It gave way enough to show that something was miss¬ 
ing, and I checked off the packets and found the ’90 
governments gone. I checked them over three 
times, and then, when I had got over the shock, 
went into the booth outside and telephoned Mr. 
Anderson just what I have told you. Having asked 
him for his daughter, I felt I owed that to them and 
to myself. The assistant cashier and the assistant 
receiving teller were with me when I opened the 
vault, and I checked out the books and cash so that 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 237 

they know the safe had not been touched overnight. 
Now you see it is up to me to account for those bonds. 
Mr. Anderson asked me to wait and see you, before 
I told the cashier. The president is not down yet.” 

I had been watching him covertly as he spoke, and 
the instant that he had given me the case I felt the 
conviction stealing over me that he had the bonds, 
or had had them. The case of a small-salaried trust 
company clerk, who put four hundred thousand 
dollars of his employer’s money into Wall Street in 
four weeks, rose in my mind. No matter, however, 
whether he had taken them, a fifteen or twenty years’ 
term stared him in the face. Perhaps he thought 
that worth the game. I supposed that, of course, 
he was bonded for one or two hundred thousand 
by some one of the fidelity companies, so I did not 
trouble to ask him as to that. I merely remarked, 
drawing on my gloves: 

“ Well, Mr. Rhodes, I would advise you to put 
back the bonds if you can do it without detection, 
or else — slide.” 

A red flush crept up to his temples. It was either 
anger or guilt, probably both, but he controlled him¬ 
self almost between his teeth, rising and turning 
away: 

“ I wish to bid you good-morning, Mr. Duncan. 
You can go back to Mr. Anderson, and tell him 
Marie will receive a last note from me in an hour, 
and now, if you will excuse me, I shall inform the 
cashier.” 

Something in his manner and the remembrance of 


238 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


his quixotic haste in calling up his sweetheart’s father 
caused a pang of remorse to shoot through me, and 
I put out my hand and stopped him. 

“ I beg your pardon, Rhodes. I did not mean 
to be brutal, but the facts —” 

The tense line of his white lips relaxed into a 
sickly smile. 

“Yes, the facts — I know. I am not in a posi¬ 
tion to resent being reminded of them. But, I have 
made up my mind to tell the cashier.” 

We left the room together, and I walked with him 
along the outer corridor to the cashier’s door, where 
the stenographer said he had gone out, and we found 
the president would not be down until one o’clock. 

“ See here, Rhodes,” I said with sudden determina¬ 
tion, “ I am going to do what I can in this matter. 
Is there any reason why it will become known as a 
matter of course?” 

“ The first of the month, # a week from to-morrow, 
will be the triple checking up time.” 

“ Very well, just you hold off this morning, any¬ 
how. You will probably have three-quarters of an 
hour for lunch, meet me at Haan’s at 12.15.” 

“ All right. Good morning.” 

After I had gone twenty yards from the bank I 
was sorry that I had made the engagement. It 
was not in the line of my duty to my client, Mr. 
Anderson, and I was likely to become unprofitably 
involved with young Rhodes. I saw, even without 
thought, that there were two alternatives. Either 
he had taken the bonds or they had been removed 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 239 

overnight from the vault, and I believed he was 
telling the truth when he said the vault was all 
right in the morning, for if it had not been, he would 
eagerly have seized on the circumstances; and fur¬ 
thermore, the fact would have been known by the 
other officials, and the state of peace which I had 
found on entering would not have existed. There 
was but one thing to think: Rhodes had taken the 
bonds, or was shielding the thief. 

I related the case to Betts, when I reached the 
office, and he laughed incredulously: 

“ Say, Duncan,” he said, “ that is a bit too wild 
a tale for me. Twelve hundred thousand dollars 
gone from a time-locked bank vault overnight with¬ 
out opening it! Gee! Why don’t you consult that 
man Rand, Lawrence Rand, the fellow who has been 
untying some of those hard knots out West? Don’t 
you remember the Johnstone mirror poisoning case, 
and the Rebstock mines affair?” 

“Yes, I do. Is Rand his name? Where is he 
to be found? ” 

“ Jordon went up to his place one night — I think 
it is in Fifty-Seventh Street, in some apartment 
house. Here, look him up in the telephone book.” 

I found him entered there. “ Lawrence Rand, 
Special Agent. 32088 Plaza.” And calling him up 
made an engagement for an hour later. 

I was ushered into the reception-room of his apart¬ 
ment by a dark-skinned young giant, whom I at first 
thought a negro, but as I saw him in the full light, 
and noted his straight hair and heavy coppery fea- 


240 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

tures, I was surprised to find he was a full-blooded 
Indian. He was dressed in clothes that did not 
seem compatible with the rank of a servant. 

Rand entered with a brisk step, a frank smile on 
his keen face. As he gripped my hand I realized 
that far more physical power was in his possession 
than one would think by his frame, of medium height 
and slender almost to thinness. It was afterward 
that I found every inch of him was whipcord and 
steel. 

We sat down in the inner room, and I told him 
the story of Rhodes and the bonds. When I had 
finished he frowned ever so slightly and said, u Is 
that all?” 

I thought I had been rather explicit. So I replied 
with a little rigor: “ That seems to cover the case.” 

“ Do you know whether there is one night watch¬ 
man or two ? What is the make of the safe ? Have 
there ever been any attempts at robbery of the bank? 
Are all the members of the bank staff present this 
morning? Has the president been on the right side 
of the market for the past year? ” 

The questions came like shots from a rapid-fire 
gun. He did not wait for me to answer. 

“ I see you do not know. We will waste no 
time. You are to meet young Rhodes at lunch. I 
want you to invite me, too, for I want to see him.” 

We took a Sixth Avenue train to Rector Street, 
and at 12.15 chose our seats in a corner compart¬ 
ment in Haan’s. We had been at the table a 
moment when Rhodes, still very pale, entered and 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 


241 


looked around for me. As I introduced him to 
Rand, I noticed that the latter, after looking the 
bank clerk fully in the eyes a second, let his gaze play 
like lightning over Rhodes’ head and features, and 
before we sat down he even sought a pretext to step 
behind Rhodes and look at the back of his head. 

Rhodes was subjected to a severe questioning at 
once, and some of the queries seemed to be anything 
but relevant, and in sum were meant to make sure 
that it was impossible for any one but Rhodes to take 
the bonds at any time the safe was open. After the 
books and cash had been checked out, Rhodes said, 
a sliding steel screen was drawn over the approach 
to the vault at such times as he was not inside to get 
or replace papers or securities ordered out on writ¬ 
ten slip by some one of the officers. He was sure the 
bonds could not have been given out by mistake on a 
slip for other securities, because the list tallied. 

“ Then either you took the bonds or they were 
abstracted from the safe after the time-lock was set, 
and the time-lock being all right up to the present 
minute, you are facing toward Sing Sing,” summar¬ 
ized Rand, tilting his cigar and spilling salt into his 
beer. 

Rhodes looked down and swallowed hard at some¬ 
thing in his throat, but could not answer. 

“ Who made the vault, when, and where? ” asked 
Rand. 

“Mahler, in 1890, in Cincinnati.” 

“ Hm, is that so — a Mahler vault, eh? Did I 
understand you to say the watchman is an old Irish- 


242 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


man, named Hanahan, has been at the bank twenty 
years and has considerable property? How do you 
know about his property? ” 

“ When I was on accounts he always had fifteen 
or twenty thousand on time deposits, and drew some 
large checks or made heavy deposits, when Mr. 
Anderson bought or sold property for him —” 

“Whom did you say, Mr. Anderson? The real 
estate agent who sent Mr. Duncan to see you?” 

“ Yes, Mr. Martin Anderson. He is Hanahan’s 
agent. They were old volunteer firemen together 
in Williamsburg, shortly after they came to this 
country.” 

“Indeed! How did you know that?” 

“ Well, one evening shortly after I met Marie, 
I went to call on her, and she said her father was 
not at home; that he was down at our bank chatting 
with Hanahan and having a smoke. Then she told 
me about their having belonged to the same fire 
company. After the old man had taken a dislike 
to me and threatened to shoot me if I came to the 
house again, I used to watch for Hanahan’s check, 
for every time he drew, I knew he was expecting 
to see Mr. Anderson, and I would go up to the house. 
I never missed it.” 

Rand smiled as if he enjoyed the humor in the 
instance. He thought a moment, and then said: 

“ Well, now, if you will go back to the bank, I 
will be over presently accompanied by a man from 
the Broadway office of Mahler’s, and you will be 
asked to show us the vault. Please do not indicate 
that you know me.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 243 

When Rhodes was gone, Rand turned to me 
quickly and said: “ Mr. Duncan, kindly go over to 
Mr. Robert Steele, in Hargan’s office, in Wall Street, 
and tell him I sent you. Ask him whether any gov¬ 
ernment fours of ’90 have been in evidence in the 
market recently. Meet me in half an hour at the 
telephone booth in the Park Row drug store.” 

I hurried to the office of the great firm of Hargan 
& Company, and sent in my card to Mr. Steele with 
“ through Mr. Rand ” on the corner. I was ushered 
in immediately. 

“ Mr. Steele, I was sent here by Mr. Rand to 
inquire whether there have been any ’90 government 
fours on the market in more than the usual quantity 
recently?” 

At the question he started visibly, and whirled 
abruptly around in his desk chair to face me. He 
stared at me a moment as if weighing his words 
forthcoming. 

“ Well — yes,” he said slowly, dropping his eyes 
in a manner that was anything but frank. “ Yes, 
there have been — some.” He paused and looked 
up at me again, took off his glasses, and, wiping 
them tentatively, put them on and looked me full in 
the face, as if to decide on his course. 

“ Since Mr. Rand sent you, it must be all right, 
for we trust Mr. Rand thoroughly here. Tell him 
that a pile of them has been dumped into the market 
in the past week, not into the market exactly, but 
Strauss brokers had them, and loans on them were 
used to buy Overland Pacific at an average of 87, 


244 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


and when it reached 161, last Thursday, whoever 
was in this pool began to take profits, as nearly as 
we can tell, and closed out the line at an average 
of 157. Of course Overland went to 136, but she 
is — let me see — let me see —” he looked at the 
tape —“ is 206, so whoever held these bonds must 
have been outside of Strauss’s pool. It cost us about 
three million dollars, and if you can tell me any more 
about it, I will be very grateful.” 

I told him there was absolutely nothing of which 
I knew personally. 

Suddenly I remembered that I had not learned 
even the name of the president of the Municipal 
Bank, and if Rand had asked Rhodes at lunch, I 
had let it slip by me. Inwardly ashamed of my 
loose methods, compared with Rand’s thorough ones, 
I hastened to ask of Mr. Steele, as a by-matter, 
being sure that he would know. I was at the door 
ready to go out when the matter flashed into my 
mind. 

“ By the way, Mr. Steele,” I said, “ do you happen 
to know the president of the Municipal Bank—” 

“ J. R. Farrington Smith? ” He jerked his head 
around sharply toward me as he interrupted me. 
“ Indeed I do.” Then he emitted a short, grating 
laugh, and continued, looking at me sharply all the 
while. “ How odd I should be thinking of him also 
at that moment! Do you know, Mr. Duncan, that 
Strauss is or was his broker ? Yet, he is on the short 
end of Overland very badly; that I know, to my 
sorrow.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 245 

He dropped his voice to a confidence-inviting tone, 
and said as he leaned forward, motioning me to a 
chair once more: 

“ Come now, Mr. Duncan, why should we dis¬ 
semble? You are evidently very well informed in 
this matter. Did Smith flop and put up those bonds 
to go long on Overland? He made a pretty penny, 
if he did. Honestly, is that the way he played fast 
and loose with us? ” 

I remained standing and put on my hat to further 
signify that I was about to go. 

“ Mr. Steele, to tell the truth, I did not know 
until a moment ago that J. R. Farrington Smith is 
president of the Municipal Bank. You have just 
informed me.” 

He became very stiff in his manner, and turned to 
his papers as if already thinking of them, and said 
quietly: 

“ Oh, then we are talking to no purpose. Good 
morning, Mr. Duncan.” 

By a short cut and a brisk walk up Nassau Street, 
I reached the Park Row drug store on the minute 
of the half hour. A man was in the telephone booth 
talking, and just outside the half-open door was 
Rand, directing the queries that the man was making. 
The stranger was evidently the man from Mahler’s. 
As I approached, Rand motioned me to silence. 

“ Well, my books show the number is D 186 N,” 
the safe man was saying; “we have no record of 
complaints or repairs back to ’94. Have you any 
before that? — All right, I’ll hold the wire.— Hello, 


246 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


yes. You have none at all. Now what is the pat¬ 
tern of the time-lock? — Neilson patent, yes.— 
Well, who superintended the Secret Construction 
Room when this one was made? — The old man 
himself, eh ? — Where is Neilson now ? — How long 
has he been dead? — Well, was his brother-in-law 
working with him in 1890? — Wait a moment—” 

He kept the receiver to his ear and turned to 
Rand. 

“ Is there anything else you wish me to ask, Mr. 
Rand? ” 

“ Inquire if there has been any trouble with any 
D class vaults. That will be all.” 

The safe man repeated the question into the 
’phone; received the answer, hung up the receiver, 
turned around and said: 

“ None but an attempt to blow one open in the 
Produce Exchange in Springfield. It failed. He 
says the man who controlled the secret measurements 
on that set of vaults was the patentee of the time- 
lock, and he is dead. The measurements are sealed 
and filed. The patents went to his brother-in-law 
who worked with him, who sold them outright to 
the company for a song.” 

“ What was his name? ” asked Rand, with disap¬ 
pointment in his voice and manner. 

“ They have no record and do not remember. He 
was just a drunken, thick-headed Swede.” 

When Rand was paying the telephone toll the 
clerk figured on the rate to Cincinnati, so I knew 
they had been talking to the Mahler offices at the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 247, 

factory. I told Rand just what had happened in 
Steele’s office, and he smiled slightly and said: 

“ Well, well, the lost bonds or others have been 
used as collateral for a week past, eh, and Farring¬ 
ton Smith was on the wrong side of the market. I 
do not think Rhodes will ‘ do any time ’ if he is 
clever. I have learned that he was a favorite em¬ 
ployee of Smith’s. Let us go over to the Munici¬ 
pal.” 

At the bank, the man from Mahler’s spoke a 
moment to the cashier, and received his permission 
to show the vault to “ two prospective customers,” 
and a boy was sent to tell Rhodes that the visitors 
had been accorded the courtesy. 

As we passed the president’s inner office door, I 
saw Smith at his desk, and noticed how pale and 
careworn he appeared. I saw that Rand observed 
it also. 

Rhodes admitted us to the enclosure, and, ac¬ 
cording to Rand’s previous instructions, gave us no 
sign of recognition. Rand and the man from 
Mahler’s examined the interior of the electrically 
lighted vault. The safe man tapped the floor all 
around with the stick he carried, sounding for con¬ 
cealed tunnelling, but the inspection was unfruitful. 
The place was in perfect order, and the lock re¬ 
sponded repeatedly to the safe man’s skilled touch, 
in a way that showed it was in excellent condition. 
Rand had been standing still, looking carefully at 
everything within range of his keen eyes, stroking 
his silver-touched hair lightly with one hand in a 
way I have observed many times since. 


248 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

Suddenly he pulled out his watch, looked at the 
dial of the time-clock, then at his watch, then at the 
bank clock, an electrically-regulated affair hung on 
the wall. The clock read 2 P. M. to the second. 

“ I beg pardon,” said Rand to Rhodes. “ What 
time is it by your watch? ” 

Rhodes took out his timepiece, and said: “ I 
have two o’clock flat.” 

I now noticed that the dial of the time-lock stood 
1.58:30. 

“ When did you notice that the clock of the time- 
lock was slow? ” 

“ It is slow, isn’t it? Why, I had forgot that. 
It was last Monday morning, a week ago. I re¬ 
member I was a little late,” replied Rhodes. 

“ Has any one swept in here since? ” 

Rand asked this with his eyes fixed on the dark 
corner at the heel of the right door. 

“ No, not in the vault.” 

Rand stooped and put his hand into the corner. 
For a moment I thought he was picking up some¬ 
thing, but he straightened up and brushed his fingers 
one against the other, as if ridding them of dust, so 
I knew his hands were empty. 

In a moment he signified he was through, and we 
left the place, and at the corner parted with the 
man from Mahler’s. We walked on toward my 
office. 

“What do you make of that?” said Rand sud¬ 
denly, and I saw he was holding something toward 
me between his thumb and forefinger. I was sure 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 249 

he had put neither hand in his pocket since we had 
left the bank. 

The small, bright object was merely a plain, 
smooth-worn bit of steel, thinner than a penny, and 
not as broad, with a small round hole in the center. 
Just a* tiny disk of steel. 

“ Did you pick that up in the vault?” I asked. 

“ Yes, out of that dark corner by the door.” 

“Why, how is that? I saw your hands as you 
rose, and they were empty.” 

“ Oh, no, you were mistaken, just as that man 
from Mahler’s was. I merely palmed the disk, that 
is all, so he could not see it. There is no reason 
why he should be on the inside of this case. He 
thinks too much of his own cleverness as it is.” 

“ Well, what is this thing? ” I said, slightly irri¬ 
tated at having been so easily tricked. 

“ I wish I could answer that question as easily 
as you asked it,” replied Rand, and relapsed into 
silence. 

As we entered the building in which I had my 
office, there emerged from an elevator car that had 
just descended a girl, whose appearance caught my 
attention. She was attired in a dark street suit that 
set her small, trim figure to advantage, but by con¬ 
trast emphasized the pallor of her face. Her hair 
was of that abundant flaxen quality so often seen in 
Germans and Scandinavians, and her eyes were large 
and dark blue. They were troubled, and it was plain 
that she had been crying. There was something 
bravely piteous in every line of her face. She 


250 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


paused a moment as if half expecting some one, and 
hurried out as we entered the next upbound car. 

When I went into the office, Betts came in with a 
slip of paper in his hand. After I had introduced 
him to Rand he said: 

“ Duncan, for shame not to be in when nice young 
ladies call on you. The pretty daughter of your 
old real estate client, Anderson, was just here. 
She has received a letter from the young fellow who 
took those bonds, in which he says he wishes her to 
forget him. She refuses to believe he is guilty, and 
has had a scene with her father, who must have told 
her that he has retained you, for she came down here 
demanding that you take her to see the young chap, 
wherever he is locked up. Has he been arrested 
yet? ” 

“ No,” I said, “ he is over in the bank.” 

“ I think he will be there for some time yet,” ob¬ 
served Rand, looking out of the window. 

“ Well, she will be back in half an hour,” said 
Betts, laying down the strip of paper on my desk. 
“ She did not have a card, and wrote her name. 
Excuse me, Mr. Rand, I am not through with my 
correspondence yet, and it will soon be three 
o’clock.” 

As Betts went out Rand rose and looked at the 
strip with the name written in a tall, delicate han-d, 
“ Miss Marie Neilson Anderson.” 

In a short time Miss Anderson came into the outer 
office, and I brought her in and closed the door. 
With trembling lips and tears constantly ready to 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 251 

fall, she repeated what she had already told Betts, 
and demanded that I arrange an interview with 
Rhodes at once. 

I reassured her to the best of my ability. Rand 
sat quiet and said nothing. I thought he might at 
least have repeated to her what he had just said to 
Betts, though I could not exactly make out what 
were his grounds for the statement. Instead, just 
before she was leaving, much comforted and calmer, 
he said: 

“ Excuse me, Miss Anderson, when did you last 
see Mr. Rhodes?” 

“ Oh, I have had a letter from him nearly every 
day, but I have not talked with him since Sunday 
night a week ago, when he came to see me at the 
house.” 

“ How long have you known him? ” 

“ Nearly two years.” 

“ How did you meet him? ” 

“ Why, he knew papa at the bank, and one day 
when papa was ill, he sent for George to come up 
to the house to get some papers about his accounts, 
and papa introduced us. When we were first en¬ 
gaged, he did not seem to dislike George, and often 
sat talking with him about matters in the bank and 
other things.” 

“ By the way, how old are you, Miss Anderson? ” 

She did not seem to mind the blunt question, and 
replied quickly: 

“I am twenty-one.” 

“ Were you born in this country? ” 


252 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Yes, I was born in New York.” 

“ Thank you kindly, that is all,” said Rand, and 
was promptly so deep in thought that he barely rose 
and bowed, as she left, a few minutes later. He 
kept his feet, and put on his hat, as if he, too, were 
going. 

“ I believe you told me that you were to go to 
Anderson’s house to-night, and report, did you not? ” 
he asked. 

“ Yes, I am sorry that I can not make a better 
showing both for my client and for Rhodes.” 

“ I suppose you mean that you hoped a man of my 
reputation would have offered better support to you 
in yours,” he observed with a quizzical smile that 
nettled me, as he walked to the door. 

“ I should like to go with you, Mr. Duncan,” he 
continued. “ I will meet you at the northwest corner 
of Gramercy Park at eight o’clock. Will you be so 
kind as to bring young Rhodes with you? ’Phone 
him at the bank, now, and you might come prepared 
for anything in the way of a fight, for — we will 
close up the case to-night.” 

He shut the door and went out. I was wild to 
call him back and get an explanation, but pride re¬ 
strained me. 

That evening Rhodes met me by appointment at 
the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and we walked over to the 
•corner Rand had named. We had been standing 
there a moment, when a carriage drove up, stopped, 
and Rand alighted, followed by J. R. Farrington 
Smith and the brawny Indian. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 253 

I could see by the street light that Smith was very 
white, and the Indian kept just at his elbow and a 
little behind him as they advanced to meet us. Rand 
presented me to Smith, who bowed coldly. If Smith 
and Rhodes exchanged salutations I did not notice it. 
Rand said to me, as we walked along to the house 
after he had told the cabman to wait for him: 

“ Will you kindly ask Mr. Anderson to see Mr. 
Duncan and some gentlemen?” 

I was angry with him for a number of small things 
which had occurred during the day, but more than 
ever now, for bringing Smith into the case, and at 
Anderson’s house, a proceeding which would be sure 
to involve Anderson and his daughter in the expose 
that must occur in so short a time. 

A little maid admitted us at a door beside Ander¬ 
son’s real estate office, and passed back along a 
narrow hall and up to a well-furnished apartment 
immediately over the offices. The maid vanished 
through the portieres, and I judged by the sounds 
that she found Anderson in the third room to the 
rear. I could hear him clearing his throat as he 
came. 

As he stepped through the portieres, I saw he 
was a man of fifty, of good, appearance, short and 
heavy, with large hands and a massive jaw. His 
eyes were very small and nearly hidden by the over¬ 
folding wrinkles about them. 

“ Good evening, gentlemen,” he said cheerily, 
looking about in a pleasant though puzzled way. 

I rose and went forward saying, “ I am Mr.. 


254 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Duncan, Mr. Anderson. I believe you kn'ow Mr. 
Smith and Mr. Rhodes. This is Mr. Lawrence 
Rand, with whom I have consulted in this matter.” 

The Indian, whom I scarcely knew how to con¬ 
sider, whether companion of Rand’s or his servant, 
had stepped back into the shadow by the portieres, 
and I do not think Anderson saw him, so I made 
no reference to him whatever. I was very busy 
thinking just what to say and how to say it, for 
Rand’s bringing Smith with him showed that Smith 
was informed in part or wholly, and was so unex¬ 
pected that I had had no chance to ask him aside 
just what the situation was. He left me in no un¬ 
certainty. He gracefully superseded me in the ini¬ 
tiative by drawing back a chair at a small table in the 
center of the room, in the full glow of the shaded 
light, and saying: 

“ Would you mind sitting here, please, Mr. 
Anderson? I shall want you to write something in 
a moment, and it will be more convenient for you.” 

Anderson sat down, as requested, and turned his 
face toward Rand, as if he knew where the power 
lay. I could see the arteries in his neck throbbing. 
I noticed that Rhodes was very pale, and the bank 
president was laboring under great excitement. 

“ Now, to be brief, gentlemen, we are about to 
adjust this matter of the disappearance of twelve 
hundred thousand dollars’ worth of bonds from the 
vault of the Municipal Bank.” 

Rand spoke in a soft, even voice. I think I was 
the only man who moved a muscle. I could see that 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 255 

at least Anderson’s blood did not quicken any. His 
eyes may have turned toward Rhodes. I could not 
tell. Rand went on: 

“ Before I say anything further, I wish to remind 
the interested parties that I have brought an officer 
with me, and any violence would be inadvisable. 

“ Mr. Anderson, you will kindly turn over to Mr. 
Smith that packet of ’90 government fours. Mr. 
Smith will give you a receipt in full. You will also 
give Mr. Smith your order on Strauss & Company 
for four hundred thousand dollars, which is approxi¬ 
mately what Mr. Smith lost when caught short on 
Overland Pacific ten days ago, and also your order 
to Mr. George Rhodes for the remainder of your 
profits, when you went long on Overland Pacific, 
this last week, by using the Municipal Bank as an 
involuntary partner. You will also give your con¬ 
sent to his marriage with your daughter. Mr. 
Duncan here will arrange the matter of fees, and 
that will close the incident. If you do not, Mr. 

' Smith will prosecute you, and I will furnish the evi¬ 
dence. If Mr. Smith does not perform his share, 
I will, in behalf of Mr. Rhodes, inform the bank 
directors of his hand in Overland. Kindly do as I 
have requested, Mr. Anderson.” 

The old fellow never changed color one whit, nor 
did the throbbing of the arteries in his neck increase. 
They diminished, if anything. A bitter sneer came 
on his face, and as he spoke he dropped into very 
broken English. 

“ Vot iss diss nonsense, Meester, Vot-afer-your- 


256 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


nem-iss? Vot a ni’ice liddle scheme, bote Ah don’t 
ma’ke no mohney, baycoss Ah aind’t got dey 
bont-s —” 

Rand held up a forefinger and the old man 
stopped. He was now breathing hard, and was 
flushed. Rand drew from his vest pocket and laid 
on the table before Anderson the little steel disk. 

Before Rand could speak, the portieres parted, 
and in the opening stood Marie Anderson, very 
white and drawn up to her full height. In one hand 
she extended the packet with the typewritten slip 
still on the end. 

“ Father,” she said slowly, in a low, tense voice, 
“ here are the bonds. By accident I just found them 
in a jar on the sideboard.” 

With surprising quickness Anderson drew out a 
drawer in the table at which he sat, snatched up a 
revolver, leaped to the doorway, thrusting his 
daughter aside, but as he turned and fired pointblank 
at Rand, who had vaulted the table to reach him, 
the Indian knocked up the muzzle of the revolver 
from behind. The bullet struck the ceiling, and the 
next instant Anderson was on the floor, helpless in 
the bearlike clasp of the big red man. 

The girl had reeled as if about to faint. Rhodes 
had sprung to her assistance, but she recovered her¬ 
self and seemed to be anxious to get away from her 
father, as if from a reptile. Rhodes led her to the 
other side of the room. 

“ Take the gun away from him, and set him on 
the chair again, Tom,” said Rand, as if nothing had 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 257 

happened. He returned to his own seat, and we too 
sat down. 

In fifteen seconds the smoke floating about the 
ceiling was the only sign of the crisis just passed. 
Rand began again : 

“ In order to give you an opportunity to recover 
your composure, before you begin writing, Mr. 
Anderson, and to prevent your indulging in any more 
foolish lies, I will tell you the evidence against you. 
You helped your brother-in-law, Neilson, make the 
time-lock on the vault ordered for the Municipal 
Bank in 1890. You inserted in the journal of the 
main standard of the clock works a steel disk, in¬ 
stead of a brass one, knowing that the steel against 
steel would make a friction that would wear out both 
in several years’ time. By means of a second time- 
lock accurately duplicated, and which, if I am not 
mistaken, is ticking away in that black box on the 
mantel behind you, you were able to tell very nearly 
the very hour when you could turn back the bolts 
of the Municipal vault without let or hindrance. 
When your brother-in-law died, you sold his-patents 
to the company, returned to New York, and began 
to live for the hour when you could help yourself 
to whatever you wished. You stopped drinking and 
settled down. You went into the real estate busi¬ 
ness, because you could obtain in that manner a 
permanent hold on Hanahan, the watchman, at the 
Municipal, whom you already knew, and you drew 
him into the habit of seeing you on business regu¬ 
larly at the bank at night. You have his perfect 


258 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


•confidence. When you found that, about the time 
you were ready to make your haul, George Rhodes 
would be the young man in charge of the vault, you 
called him to the house on a pretext, and made him 
acquainted with your daughter and encouraged his 
visits, that you might get from him in your chats, 
bit by bit, knowledge of just what to put your hand 
on in the short time you were in the vault, and how 
to conceal the theft long enough for you to convert 
the securities. This is one of the deepest and clever¬ 
est criminal plots, of which I have ever heard. 
Your life for all these years has been devoted to it. 
I am not surprised that you succeeded. Your one 
mistake was in giving so flimsy a pretext to Mr. 
Duncan for calling him up and retaining him. That 
attracted my attention to you. What you really 
wanted was to be able to have constant information 
from Mr. Duncan, when he should become Rhodes’ 
counsel, in the natural course of events, as to efforts 
to explain the disappearance of the bonds, in order 
to defend Rhodes. In that way you would always 
know how close he was on the track of the real thief, 
Mr. Martin Anderson. Few men pay attorneys 
$500 retaining fees to persuade young men who 
really love their daughters from dragging them into 
a scandal, which does not essentially concern the 
daughters, at best. You were surprised into this 
mistake when Rhodes called you up, and crystallized 
your plan to enforce your choice of counsel on him 
too hastily. 

“ On Sunday night a week ago, you went to the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 


259 


bank, as your duplicate time-lock showed you the steel 
disk was worn so thin, a jar on the door would cause 
the standard to drop, and the lock to release. 
Hanahan, as he told me an hour ago, went across 
the street for some tobacco, that Sunday night, leav¬ 
ing you in the bank. In ninety seconds you had 
opened the vault, taken the right packet, opened the 
case of the time-lock, replaced the disk with a brass 
one, closed the case, and closed the vault, but — 
you carelessly dropped this worn disk on the floor! 

“ You used the bonds as collateral to buy stock, 
not as a speculation, but as an investment that would 
conceal the bonds, and by chance chose Overland 
Pacific at a low figure, and it rose. You thought 
best to take your profits, and only greed prevented 
you from returning the bonds to Rhodes by mail. 
As we have seen, you had not thought long enough 
or deeply enough what you would do with your life¬ 
time harvest, after you got it into your hands, and 
suddenly you found yourself out of your depths. 
You hid the bonds in a jar, just like a foolish old 
woman. But I must compliment you on your clear 
thinking and previous planning. I have never known 
of anything so deliberate, and only a phlegmatic 
Scandinavian would be capable of it, especially to 
end up with such good nerves as you have shown 
to-night. Mr. Smith does not wish to prosecute you, 
and expose his speculations. Since Mr. Smith and 
Mr. Duncan doubtless have other engagements to¬ 
night, kindly write as I requested, a few minutes 
ago.” 


260 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Muttering objurgations in his native tongue, 
Anderson wrote the two drafts, Rhodes’ being for 
more than one hundred thousand, and both Rhodes 
and Smith receipted. Smith took the bonds and 
thrust them into his overcoat pocket. Miss Ander¬ 
son refused to remain an hour longer under her 
father’s roof, and left the house to go to the home 
of a distant relative. I pocketed the odd little steel 
disk, which lies before me as I write, with a slip 
copied from a page of Rand’s notebook, that lays 
out so plainly and simply his quick, sure, and un¬ 
erring processes in this remarkable case, that I could 
not refrain from giving it. 

(1) Anderson’s retaining Duncan very strange. 

(2) Rhodes’ cranium shows moral incapacity for 
theft. Innocent. 

(3) Neilson’s brother-in-law could know lock con¬ 
struction. 

(4) Smith lost speculating. Thief won half 
million with bonds. 

(5) Time-lock lost ninety seconds Sunday night, 
yveek before discovery. 

(6) Disk of steel instead of brass. Meant to 
wear out. Is discarded part of lock. Must be a 
new disk in lock. Work of expert. Prepared since 
making of lock. 

(7) Marie Neilson Anderson. 

(8) Anderson was alone in bank three minutes 
Sunday night of robbery. 

Anderson guilty. Proved and confessed. Ad¬ 
justed, no proceedings, by L. R. 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 
By Maurice LeBlanc 

“ I RECEIVED your telegram and here I am,” said a 
gentleman with a gray mustache, who entered my 
study, dressed in a dark-brown frock-coat and a wide- 
brimmed hat, with a red ribbon in his buttonhole. 
“ What’s the matter? ” 

Had I not been expecting Arsene Lupin, I should 
certainly never have recognized him in the person 
of this old half-pay officer: 

“ What’s the matter? ” I echoed. “ Oh, nothing 
much: a rather curious coincidence, that’s all. And, 
as I know that you would just as soon clear up a 
mystery as plan one . . 

“Well?” 

“ You seem in a great hurry! ” 

“ I am . . . unless the mystery in question is 
worth putting myself out for. So let us get to the 
point.” 

“ Very well. Just begin by casting your eye on 
this little picture, which I picked up, a week or 
two ago, in a grimy old shop on the other side of 
the river. I bought it for the sake of its Empire 
frame, with the palm-leaf ornaments on the mold¬ 
ings . . . for the painting is execrable.” 

From “The Confessions of Arsene Lupin,” Copyright, 1913, 
by Maurice LeBlanc. 

261 


262 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Execrable, as you say,” said Lupin, after he 
had examined it, “ but the subject itself is rather 
nice. That corner of an old courtyard, with its 
rotunda of Greek columns, its sun-dial and its fish¬ 
pond and that ruined well with the Renascence roof 
and those stone steps and' stone benches: all very 
picturesque.” 

“ And genuine,” I added. “ That picture, good 
or bad, has never been taken out of its Empire 
frame. Besides, it is dated. . . . There, in the 
left-hand bottom corner: those red figures, 15 4. 2, 
which obviously stand for 15 April, 1802.” 

“ I dare say ... I dare say. . . . But you were 
speaking of a coincidence and, so far, I fail to 
see. . . .” 

I went to a corner of my study, took a telescope, 
fixed it on its stand and pointed it, through the 
open window, at the open window of a little room 
facing my flat, on the other side of the street. And 
I asked Lupin to look through it. 

He stooped forward. The slanting rays of the 
morning sun lit up the room opposite, revealing a 
set of mahogany furniture, all very simple, a large 
bed and a child’s bed hung with cretonne curtains. 

“Ah!” cried Lupin, suddenly. “The same 
picture I ” 

“Exactly the same!” I said. “And the date: 
do you see the date, in red? 15. 4. 2.” 

“ Yes, I see. . . . And who lives in that room? ” 

“ A lady ... or, rather, a workwoman, for she 
has to work for her living . . . needlework, hardly 
enough to keep herself and her child.” 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


263 


“What is her name?” 

“ Louise d’Ernemont. . . . From what I hear, 
she is the great-granddaughter of a farmer-general 
who was guillotined during the Terror.” 

“ Yes, on the same day as Andre Chenier,” said 
Lupin. “ According to the memoirs of the time, 
this d’Ernemont was supposed to be a very rich 
man.” He raised his head and said, “ It’s an inter¬ 
esting story. . . . Why did you wait before telling 
me? ” 

“ Because this is the 15th of April.” 

“Well?” 

“Well, I discovered yesterday — I heard them 
talking about it in the porter’s box — that the 15th 
of April plays an important part in the life of Louise 
d’Ernemont.” 

“ Nonsense! ” 

“ Contrary to her usual habits, this woman who 
works every day of her life, who keeps her two 
rooms tidy, who cooks the lunch which her little 
girl eats when she comes home from the parish 
school . . . this woman, on the 15th of April, goes 
out with the child at ten o’clock in the morning 
and does not return until nightfall. And this has 
happened for years and in all weathers. You must 
admit that there is something queer about this date 
which I find on an old picture, which is inscribed 
on another, similar picture and which controls the 
annual movements of the descendant of d’Ernemont 
the farmer-general.” 

“ Yes, it’s curious . . . you’re quite right,” said 


264 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Lupin, slowly. “ And don’t you know where she 
goes to? ” 

“ Nobody knows. She does not confide in a soul. 
As a matter of fact, she talks very little.” 

“Are you sure of your information?” 

“ Absolutely. And the best proof of its accuracy 
is that here she comes.” 

A door had opened in the back of the room op¬ 
posite, admitting a little girl of seven or eight, who 
came and looked out of the window. A lady ap¬ 
peared behind her, tall, good-looking still and wear¬ 
ing a sad and gentle air. Both of them were ready 
and dressed, in clothes which were simple in them¬ 
selves, but which pointed to a love of neatness and 
a certain elegance on the part of the mother. 

“ You see,” I whispered, “ they are going out.” 

And presently the mother took the child by the 
hand and they left the room together. 

Lupin caught up his hat: 

“ Are you coming? ” 

My curiosity was too great for me to raise the 
least objection. I went downstairs with Lupin. 

As we stepped into the street, we saw my neigh¬ 
bor enter a baker’s shop. She bought two rolls and 
placed them in a little basket which her daughter 
was carrying and which seemed already to contain 
some other provisions. Then they went in the 
direction of the outer boulevards and followed them 
as far as the Place de l’Etoile, where they turned 
down the Avenue Kleber to walk toward Passy. 

Lupin strolled silently along, evidently obsessed 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


265 


by a train of thought which I was glad to have 
provoked. From time to time, he uttered a sentence 
which showed me the thread of his reflections; and 
I was able to see that the riddle remained as much 
a mystery to him as to myself. 

Louise d’Ernemont, meanwhile, had branched off 
to the left, along the Rue Raynouard, a quiet old 
street in which Franklin and Balzac once lived, one 
of those streets which, lined with old-fashioned 
houses and walled gardens, give you the impression 
of being a country-town. The Seine flows at the 
foot of the slope which the street crowns; and a 
number of lanes run down to the river. 

My neighbor took one of these narrow, winding, 
deserted lanes. The first building on the right was 
a house the front of which faced the Rue Raynouard. 
Next came a moss-grown wall, of a height above 
the ordinary, supported by buttresses and bristling 
with broken glass. 

Half-way along the wall was a low, arched door. 
Louise d’Ernemont stopped in front of this door 
and opened it with a key which seemed to us enor¬ 
mous. Mother and child entered and closed the 
door. 

“ In any case,” said Lupin, “ she has nothing to 
conceal, for she has not looked round once. . . .” 

He had hardly finished his sentence when we 
heard the sound of footsteps behind us. It was 
two old beggars, a man and a woman, tattered, 
dirty, squalid, covered in rags. They passed us 
without paying the least attention to our presence. 


266 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

The man took from his wallet a key similar to my 
neighbor’s and put it into the lock. The door 
closed behind them. 

And, suddenly, at the top of the lane, came the 
noise of a motor-car stopping. . . . Lupin dragged 
me fifty yards lower down, to a corner in which we 
were able to hide. And we saw coming down the 
lane, carrying a little dog under her arm, a young 
and very much over-dressed woman, wearing a 
quantity of jewellery, a young woman whose eyes 
were too dark, her lips too red, her hair too fair. In 
front of the door, the same performance, with the 
same key. . . . The lady and the dog disappeared 
from view. 

“ This promises to be most amusing,” said Lupin, 
chuckling. “ What earthly connection can there be 
between those different people? ” 

There hove in sight successively two elderly ladies, 
lean and rather poverty-stricken in appearance, very 
much alike, evidently sisters; a footman in livery; an 
infantry corporal; a fat gentleman in a soiled and 
patched jacket-suit; and, lastly, a workman’s family, 
father, mother, and four children, all six of them 
pale and sickly, looking like people who never eat 
their fill. And each of the newcomers carried a 
basket or string-bag filled with provisions. 

“ It’s a picnic! ” I cried. 

“ It grows more and more surprising,” said Lupin, 
“ and I sha’n’t be satisfied till I know what is hap¬ 
pening behind that wall.” 

To climb it was out of the question. We also 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 267 

saw that it finished, at the lower as well as at the 
upper end, at a house none of whose windows over¬ 
looked the enclosure which the wall contained. 

During the next hour, no one else came along. 
We vainly cast about for a stratagem; and Lupin, 
whose fertile brain had exhausted every possible ex¬ 
pedient, was about to go in search of a ladder, when, 
suddenly, the little door opened and one of the work¬ 
man’s children came out. 

The boy ran up the lane to the Rue Raynouard. 
A few minutes later he returned, carrying two bottles 
of water, which he set down on the pavement to 
take the big key from his pocket. 

By that time Lupin had left me and was strolling 
slowly along the wall. When the child, after enter¬ 
ing the enclosure, pushed back the door Lupin sprang 
forward and stuck the point of his knife into the 
staple of the lock. The bolt failed to catch; and it 
became an easy matter to push the door ajar. 

“ That’s done the trick! ” said Lupin. 

He cautiously put his hand through the doorway 
and then, to my great surprise, entered boldly. But, 
on following his example, I saw that, ten yards be¬ 
hind the wall, a clump of laurels formed a sort of 
curtain which allowe.d us to come up unobserved. 

Lupin took his stand right in the middle of the 
clump. I joined him and, like him, pushed aside the 
branches of one of the shrubs. And the sight which 
presented itself to my eyes was so unexpected that 
I was unable to suppress an exclamation, while Lupin, 
on his side, muttered, between his teeth: 


268 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ By Jupiter! This is a funny job! ” 

We saw before us, within the confined space that 
lay between the two windowless houses, the identical 
scene represented in the old picture which I had 
bought at a second-hand dealer’s! 

The identical scene! At the back, against the op¬ 
posite wall, the same Greek rotunda displayed its 
slender columns. In the middle, the same stone 
benches topped a circle of four steps that ran down 
to a fish-pond with moss-grown flags. On the left, 
the same well raised its wrought-iron roof; and, close 
at hand the same sun-dial showed its slanting 
gnomon and its marble face. 

The identical scene! And what added to the 
strangeness of the sight was the memory, obsessing 
Lupin and myself, of that date of the 15th of April, 
inscribed in a corner of the picture, and the thought 
that this very day was the 15th of April and that 
sixteen or seventeen people, so different in age, con¬ 
dition and manners, had chosen the 15th of April to 
come together in this forgotten corner of Paris! 

All of them, at the moment when we caught sight 
of them, were sitting in separate groups on the 
benches and steps; and all were eating. Not very 
far from my neighbor and her daughter, the work¬ 
man’s family and the beggar couple were sharing 
their provisions; while the footman, the gentleman in 
the soiled suit, the infantry corporal and the two 
lean sisters were making a common stock of their 
sliced ham, their tins of sardines and their gruyere 
cheese. 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


269 


The lady with the little dog alone, who had 
brought no food with her, sat apart from the others, 
who made a show of turning their backs upon her. 
But Louise d’Ernemont offered her a sandwich, 
whereupon her example was followed by the two sis¬ 
ters; and the corporal at once began to make himself 
as agreeable to the young person as he could. 

It was now half-past one. The beggar-man took 
out his pipe, as did the fat gentleman; and, when 
they found that one had no tobacco and the other no 
matches, their needs soon brought them together. 
The men went and smoked by the rotunda and the 
women joined them. For that matter, all these peo¬ 
ple seemed to know one another quite well. 

They were at some distance from where we were 
standing, so that we could not hear what they said. 
However, we gradually perceived that the conver¬ 
sation was becoming animated. The young person 
with the dog, in particular, who by this time ap¬ 
peared to be in a great request, indulged in much 
voluble talk, accompanying her words with many ges¬ 
tures, which set the little dog barking furiously. 

But, suddenly, there was an outcry, promptly fol¬ 
lowed by shouts of rage; and one and all, men and 
women alike, rushed in disorder toward the well. 
One of the workman’s brats was at that moment com¬ 
ing out of it, fastened by his belt to the hook at the 
end of the rope; and the three other urchins were 
drawing him up by turning the handle. More active 
than the rest, the corporal flung himself upon him; 
and forthwith the footman and the fat gentleman 


270 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


seized hold of him also, while the beggars and the 
lean sisters came to blows with the workman and his 
family. 

In a few seconds the little boy had not a stitch 
left on him beyond his shirt. The footman, who 
had taken possession of the rest of the clothes, ran 
away, pursued by the corporal, who snatched away 
the boy’s breeches, which were next torn from the 
corporal by one of the lean sisters. 

“ They are mad! ” I muttered, feeling absolutely 
at sea. 

“ Not at all, not at all,” said Lupin. 

“ What! Do you mean to say that you can make 
head or tail of what is going on? ” 

He did not reply. The young lady with the little 
dog, tucking her pet under her arm, had started run¬ 
ning after the child in the shirt, who uttered loud 
yells. The two of them raced round the laurel- 
clump in which we stood hidden; and the brat flung 
himself into his mother’s arms. 

At last, Louise d’Ernemont, who had played a 
conciliatory part from the beginning, succeeded in 
allaying the tumult. Everybody sat down again; 
but there was a reaction in all those exasperated 
people and they remained motionless and silent, as 
though worn out with their exertions. 

And time went by. Losing patience and begin¬ 
ning to feel the pangs of hunger, I went to the Rue 
Raynouard to fetch something to eat, which we di¬ 
vided while watching the actors in the incompre¬ 
hensible comedy that was being performed before 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


271 


our eyes. They hardly stirred. Each minute that 
passed seemed to load them with increasing melan¬ 
choly; and they sank into attitudes of discourage¬ 
ment, bent their backs more and more or sat absorbed 
in their meditations. 

The afternoon wore on in this way, under a gray 
sky that shed a dreary light over the enclosure. 

“Are they going to spend the night here?” I 
asked, in a bored voice. 

But, at five o’clock or so, the fat gentleman in the 
soiled jacket-suit took out his watch. The others 
did the same and all, watch in hand, seemed to be 
anxiously awaiting an event of no little importance 
to themselves. The event did not take place, for, 
in fifteen or twenty minutes, the fat gentleman gave 
a gesture of despair, stood up and put on his hat. 

Then lamentations broke forth. The two lean 
sisters and the workman’s wife fell upon their knees 
and made the sign of the cross. The lady with the 
little dog and the beggar-woman kissed each other 
and sobbed; and we saw Louise d’Ernemont press¬ 
ing her daughter sadly to her. 

“ Let’s go,” said Lupin. 

“You think it’s over?” 

“Yes; and we have only just time to make our¬ 
selves scarce.” 

We went out unmolested. At the top of the lane, 
Lupin turned to the left, and leaving me outside, 
entered the first house in the Rue Raynouard, the 
one that backed on to the enclosure. 

After talking for a few seconds to the porter, he 


272 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


joined me and we stopped a passing taxi-cab: 

“ No. 34 Rue de Turin,” he said to the driver. 

The ground-floor of No. 34 was occupied by a 
notary’s office; and we were shown in, almost with¬ 
out waiting, to Maitre Valandier, a smiling, pleasant- 
spoken man of a certain age. 

Lupin introduced himself by the name of Captain 
Jeanniot, retired from the army. He said that he 
wanted to build a house to his own liking and that 
some one had suggested to him a plot of ground 
situated near the Rue Raynouard. 

“ But that plot is not for sale,” said Maitre 
Valandier. 

“ Oh, I was told . . ” 

“ You have been misinformed, I fear.” 

The lawyer rose, went to a cupboard and returned 
with a picture which he showed us. I was petrified. 
It was the same picture which I had bought, the 
same picture that hung in Louise d’Ernemont’s room. 

“ This is a painting,” he said, “ of the plot of 
ground to which you refer. It is known as the Clos 
d’Ernemont.” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ Well, this close,” continued the notary, “ once 
formed part of a large garden belonging to d’Erne¬ 
mont, the farmer-general, who was executed during 
the Terror. All that could be sold has been sold, 
piecemeal, by the heirs. But this last plot has re¬ 
mained and will remain in their joint possession . . . 
unless . . .” 

The notary began to laugh. 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


273 


“ Unless what? ” asked Lupin. 

“ Well, it’s a romance, a rather curious romance, 
in fact. I often amuse myself by looking through 
the voluminous documents of the case.” 

“ Would it be indiscreet, if I asked . . . ?” 

“ Not at all, not at all,” declared Maitre Valan- 
dier, who seemed delighted, on the contrary, to have 
found a listener for his story. And, without wait¬ 
ing to be pressed, he began: “ At the outbreak of the 
Revolution, Louis Agrippa d’Ernemont, on the pre¬ 
tense of joining his wife, who was staying at Geneva 
with their daughter Pauline, shut up his mansion in 
the Faubourg Saint-Germain, dismissed his servants 
and, with his son Charles, came and took up his abode 
in his pleasure-house at Passy, where he was known 
to nobody except an old and devoted serving-woman. 
He remained there in hiding for three years and he 
had every reason to hope that his retreat would not be 
discovered, when, one day, after luncheon, as he was 
having a nap, the old servant burst into his room. 
She had seen, at the end of the street, a patrol of 
armed men who seemed to be making for the house. 
Louis d’Ernemont got ready quickly and, at the mo¬ 
ment when the men were knocking at the front door, 
disappeared through the door that led to the garden, 
shouting to his son, in a scared voice, to keep them 
talking, if only for five minutes. He may have in¬ 
tended to escape and found the outlets through the 
garden watched. In any case, he returned in six 
or seven minutes, replied very calmly to the ques¬ 
tions put to him and raised no difficulty about ac- 


274 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


companying the men. His son Charles, although 
only eighteen years of age, was arrested also.” 

“ When did this happen? ” asked Lupin. 

“ It happened on the 26th day of Germinal, Year 
II, that is to say, on the . . 

Maitre Valandier stopped, with his eyes fixed on 
a calendar that hung on the wall, and exclaimed: 

“ Why, it was on this very day! This is the 15th 
of April, the anniversary of the farmer-general’s 
arrest.” 

“ What an odd coincidence! ” said Lupin. “ And 
considering the period at which it took place, the 
arrest, no doubt, had serious consequences? ” 

“Oh, most serious!” said the notary, laughing. 
“ Three months later, at the beginning of Thermi- 
dor, the farmer-general mounted the scaffold. His 
son Charles was forgotten in prison and their pro¬ 
perty was confiscated.” 

“The property was immense, I suppose?” said 
Lupin. 

“Well, there you are! That’s just where the 
thing becomes complicated. The property, which 
was, in fact, immense, could never be traced. It was 
discovered that the Faubourg Saint-Germain mansion 
had been sold, before the Revolution, to an English¬ 
man, together with all the country-seats and estates 
and all the jewels, securities and collections belong¬ 
ing to the farmer-general. The Convention insti¬ 
tuted minute inquiries, as did the Directory after¬ 
ward. But the inquiries led to no result.” 

“ There remained, at any rate, the Passy house,” 
said Lupin. 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


275 


“ The house at Passy was bought, for a mere 
song, by a delegate of the Commune, the very man 
who had arrested d’Ernemont, one Citizen Broquet. 
Citizen Broquet shut himself up in the house, barri¬ 
caded the doors, fortified the walls and, when 
Charles d’Ernemont was at last set free and ap¬ 
peared outside, received him by firing a musket at 
him. Charles instituted one law-suit after another, 
lost them all and then proceeded to offer large sums 
of money. But Citizen Broquet proved intractable. 
He had bought the house and he stuck to the house; 
and he would have stuck to it until his death, if 
Charles had not obtained the support of Bonaparte. 
Citizen Broquet cleared out on the 12th of February, 
1803 ; but Charles d’Ernemont’s joy was so great and 
his brain, no doubt, had been so violently unhinged 
by all that he had gone through, that, on reaching the 
threshold of the house of which he had at last re¬ 
covered the ownership, even before opening the door 
he began to dance and sing in the street. He had 
gone clean off his head.” 

“ By Jove! ” said Lupin. “ And what became of 
him?” 

“ His mother and his sister Pauline, who had ended 
by marrying a cousin of the same name at Geneva, 
were both dead. The old servant-woman took care 
of him and they lived together in the Passy house. 
Years passed without any notable event; but, sud¬ 
denly, in 1812, an unexpected incident happened. 
The old servant made a series of strange revelations 
on her death-bed, in the presence of two witnesses 


276 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

whom she sent for. She declared that the farmer- 
general had carried to his house at Passy a number 
of bags filled with gold and silver and that those 
bags had disappeared a few days before the arrest. 
According to earlier confidences made by Charles 
d’Ernemont, who had them from his father, the trea¬ 
sures were hidden in the garden, between the 
rotunda, the sun-dial and the well. In proof of her 
statement, she produced three pictures, or rather, for 
they were not yet framed, three canvases, which the 
farmer-general had painted during his captivity and 
which he had succeeded in conveying to her, with in¬ 
structions to hand them to his wife, his son and his 
daughter. Tempted by the lure of wealth, Charles 
and the old servant had kept silence. Then came 
the law-suits, the recovery of the house, Charles’s 
madness, the servant’s own useless searches; and the 
treasures were still there.” 

“ And they are there now,” chuckled Lupin. 

“ And they will be there always,” exclaimed 
Maitre Valandier. “ Unless . . . unless Citizen 
Broquet, who no doubt smelt a rat, succeeded in 
ferreting them out. But this is an unlikely supposi¬ 
tion, for Citizen Broquet died in extreme poverty.” 

“So then ... ?” 

“ So then everybody began to hunt. The children 
of Pauline, the sister, hastened from Geneva. It 
was discovered that Charles had been secretly mar¬ 
ried and that he had sons. All these heirs set to 
work.” 

“ But Charles himself? ” 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 27 

“ Charles lived in the most absolute retirement. 
He did not leave his room.” 

“Never?” 

“ Well that is the most extraordinary, the most 
astounding part of the story. Once a year, Charles 
d’Ernemont, impelled by a sort of subconscious will¬ 
power, came downstairs, took the exact road which 
his father had taken, walked across the garden and 
sat down either on the steps of the rotunda, which 
you see here, in the picture, or on the curb of the 
well. At twenty-seven minutes past five, he rose 
and went indoors again; and until his death, which 
occurred in 1820, he never once failed to perform 
this incomprehensible pilgrimage. Well, the day on 
which this happened was invariably the 15th of 
April, the anniversary of the arrest.” 

Maitre Valandier was no longer smiling and him¬ 
self seemed impressed by the amazing story which 
he was telling us. 

“ And, since Charles’s death? ” asked Lupin, after 
a moment’s reflection. 

“ Since that time,” replied the lawyer, with a cer¬ 
tain solemnity of manner, “ for nearly a hundred 
years, the heirs of Charles and Pauline d’Ernemont 
have kept up the pilgrimage of the 15th of April. 
During the first few years they made the most 
thorough excavations. Every inch of the garden 
was searched, every clod of ground dug up. All this 
is now over. They take hardly any pains. All they 
do is, from time to time, for no particular reason, to 
turn over a stone or explore the well. For the most 


278 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

part, they are content to sit down on the steps of the 
rotunda, like the poor madman; and, like him, they 
wait. And that, you see, is the sad part of their 
destiny. In those hundred years, all these people 
who have succeeded one another, from father to son, 
have lost — what shall I say? — the energy of life. 
They have no courage left, no initiative. They wait. 
They wait for the 15th of April; and, when the 15th 
of April comes, they wait for a miracle to take place. 
Poverty has ended by overtaking every one of them. 
My predecessors and I have sold first the house, in 
order to build another which yields a better rent, 
followed by bits of the garden and further bits. But 
as to that corner over there,” pointing to the picture, 
“ they would rather die than sell it. On this they 
are all agreed: Louise d’Ernemont, who is the direct 
heiress of Pauline, as well as the beggars, the work¬ 
man, the footman, the circus-rider and so on, who 
represent the unfortunate Charles.” 

There was a fresh pause; and Lupin asked: 

“ What is your own opinion, Maitre Valandier? ” 

u My private opinion is that there’s nothing in 
it. What credit can we give to the statements of 
an old servant enfeebled by age? What importance 
can we attach to the crotchets of a madman? Be¬ 
sides, if-the farmer.-general had realized his fortune, 
don’t you think that that fortune would have been 
found? One could manage to hide a paper, a docu¬ 
ment, in a confined space like that, but not treasures.” 

“ Still, the pictures?-” 

“ Yes, of course. But, after all, are they a suffi¬ 
cient proof? ” 



THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


279 


Lupin bent over the copy which the solicitor had 
taken from the cupboard and, after examining it 
at length, said: 

“ You spoke of three pictures.” 

“ Yes, the one which you see was handed to my 
predecessor by the heirs of Charles. Louise d’Erne- 
mont possesses another. As for the third, not one 
knows what became of it.” 

Lupin looked at me and continued: 

“ And do they all bear the same date? ” 

u Yes, the date inscribed by Charles d’Ernemont 
when he had them framed, not long before his 
death. . . . The same date, that is to say the 15th 
of April, Year II, according to the revolutionary 
calendar, as the arrest took place in April, 1794.” 

“ Oh, yes, of course,” said Lupin. “ The figure 
2 means . . .” 

He thought for a few moments and resumed: 

“ One more question, if I may. Did no one ever 
come forward to solve the problem? ” 

Maitre Valandier threw up his arms: 

“ Goodness gracious me! ” he cried. “ Why, it 
was the plague of the office! One of my predeces¬ 
sors, Maitre Turbon, was summoned to Passy no 
fewer than eighteen times, between 1820 and 1843, 
by the groups of heirs, whom fortune-tellers, clair¬ 
voyants, visionaries, impostors of all sorts had prom¬ 
ised that they would discover the farmer-general's 
treasures. At last, we laid down a rule: any out¬ 
sider applying to institute a search was to begin by 
depositing a certain sum.” 


280 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ What sum?” 

“ A thousand francs.” 

“ And did this have the effect of frightening them 
off?” 

“ No. Four years ago, an Hungarian hypnotist 
tried the experiment and made me waste a whole 
day. After that, we fixed the deposit at five thou¬ 
sand francs. In case of success, a third of the 
treasure goes to the finder. In case of failure, the 
deposit is forfeited to the heirs. Since then, I have 
been left in peace.” 

“ Here are your five thousand francs.” 

The lawyer gave a start: 

“Eh? What do you say? ” 

“ I say,” repeated Lupin, taking five bank-notes 
from his pocket and calmly spreading them on the 
table, “ I say that here is the deposit of five thousand 
francs. Please give me a receipt and invite all the 
d’Ernemont heirs to meet me at Passy on the 15th of 
April next year.” 

The notary could not believe his senses. I myself, 
although Lupin had accustomed me to these sur¬ 
prises, was utterly taken back. 

“ Are you serious? ” asked Maitre Valandier. 

“ Perfectly serious.” 

“ But, you know, I told you my opinion. All 
these improbable stories rest upon no evidence of 
any kind.” 

“ I don’t agree with you,” said Lupin. 

The notary gave him the look which we give to a 
person who is not quite right in his head. Then, 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


281 


accepting the situation, he took his pen and drew up 
a contract on stamped paper, acknowledging the 
payment of the deposit by Captain Jeanniot and 
promising him a third of such moneys as he should 
discover. 

“ If you change your mind,” he added, “ you might 
let me know a week before the time comes. I shall 
not inform the d’Ernemont family until the last 
moment, so as not to give those poor people too long 
a spell of hope.” 

“ You can inform them this very day, Maitre 
Valandier. It will make them spend a happier 
year.” 

We said good-bye. Outside, in the street, I cried: 

“ So you have hit upon something? ” 

“I?” replied Lupin. “ Not a bit of it ! And 
that’s just what amuses me.” 

“ But they have been searching for a hundred 
years! ” 

“ It is not so much a matter of searching as of 
thinking. Now I have three hundred and sixty-five 
days to think in. It is a great deal more than I 
want; and I am afraid that I shall forget all about 
the business, interesting though it may be. Oblige 
me by reminding me, will you? ” 

I reminded him of it several times during the fol¬ 
lowing months, though he never seemed to attach 
much importance to the matter. Then came a long 
period during which I had no opportunity of seeing 
him. It was the period, as I afterward learnt, of 


282 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


his visit to Armenia and of the terrible struggle on 
which he embarked against Abdul the Damned, a 
struggle which ended in the tyrant’s downfall. 

I used to write to him, however, at the address 
which he gave me and I was thus able to send him 
certain particulars which I had succeeded in gather¬ 
ing, here and there, about my neighbor Louise 
d’Ernemont, such as the love which she had con¬ 
ceived, a few years earlier, for a very rich young 
man, who still loved her, but who had been com¬ 
pelled by his family to throw her over; the young 
widow’s despair, and the plucky life which she led 
with her little daughter. 

Lupin replied to none of my letters. I did not 
kno v whether they reached him; and, meantime, 
the date was drawing near and I could not help 
wondering whether his numerous undertakings would 
not prevent him from keeping the appointment which 
he himself had fixed. 

As a matter of fact, the morning of the 15th of 
April arrived and Lupin was not with me by the 
time I had finished lunch. It was a quarter-past 
twelve. I left my flat and took a cab to Passy. 

I had no sooner entered the lane than I saw the 
workman’s four brats standing outside the door in 
the wall. Maitre Valandier, informed by them of 
my arrival, hastened in my direction:- 

“Well?” he cried. “Where’s Captain Jean- 
niot? ” 

“ Hasn’t he come? ” 

“ No; and I can assure you that everybody is very 
impatient to see him.” 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


283 


The different groups began to crowd round the 
lawyer; and I noticed that all those faces which I 
recognized had thrown off the gloomy and despon¬ 
dent expression which they wore a year ago. 

u They are full of hope,” said Maitre Valandier, 
“ and it is my fault. But what could I do? Your 
friend made such an impression upon me that I spoke 
to these good people with a confidence . . . which 
I cannot say I feel. However, he seems a queer sort 
of fellow, this Captain Jeanniot of yours. . . .” 

He asked me many questions and I gave* him a 
number of more or less fanciful details about the 
captain, to which the heirs listened, nodding their 
heads in appreciation of my remarks. 

“ Of course, the truth was bound to be discovered 
sooner or later,” said the fat gentleman, in a tone 
of conviction. 

The infantry corporal, dazzled by the captain’s 
rank, did not entertain a doubt in his mind. 

The lady with the little dog wanted to know if 
Captain Jeanniot was young. 

But Louise d’Ernemont said: 

“ And suppose he does not come?” 

“ We shall still have the five thousand francs to 
divide,” said the beggar-man. 

For all that, Louise d’Ernemont’s words had 
damped their enthusiasm. Their faces began to look 
sullen and I felt an atmosphere as of anguish weigh¬ 
ing upon us. 

At half-past one, the two lean sisters felt faint and 
sat down. Then the fat gentleman in the soiled suit 
suddenly rounded on the notary: 


284 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ It’s you, Maitre Valandier, who are to blame. 
... You ought to have brought the captain'here 
by main force. . . . He’s a humbug, that’s quite 
clear.” 

He gave me a savage look, and the footman, in 
his turn, flung muttered curses at me. 

I confess that their reproaches seemed to me well- 
founded and that Lupin’s absence annoyed me 
greatly : 

“ He won’t come now,” I whispered to the law¬ 
yer. 

And I was thinking of beating a retreat, when the 
eldest of the brats appeared at the door, yelling: 

“There’s some one coming! ... A motor¬ 
cycle! . . 

A motor was throbbing on the other side of the 
wall. A man on a motor-bicycle came tearing down 
the lane at the risk of breaking his neck. Suddenly, 
he put on his brakes, outside the door, and sprang 
from his machine. 

Under the layer of dust which covered him from 
head to foot, we could see that his navy-blue reefer- 
suit, his carefully creased trousers, his black felt hat 
and patent-leather boots were not the clothes in 
which a man usually goes cycling. 

“ But that’s not Captain Jeanniot!” shouted the 
notary, who failed to recognize him. 

“ Yes, it is,” said Lupin, shaking hands with us. 
“ I’m Captain Jeanniot right enough . . . only I’ve 
shaved off my mustache. . . . Besides, Maitre Va¬ 
landier, here’s your receipt.” 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 285 

He caught one of the workman’s children by the 
arm and said: 

“ Run to the cab-rank and fetch a taxi to the 
corner of the Rue Raynouard. Look sharp! I 
have an urgent appointment to keep at two o’clock, 
or a quarter-past at the latest.” 

There was a murmur of protest. Captain Jean- 
niot took out his watch: 

“Well! It’s only twelve minutes to two! I 
have a good quarter of an hour before me. But, by 
Jingo, how tired I feel! And how hungry into the 
bargain! ” 

The corporal thrust his ammunition-bread into 
Lupin’s hand; and he munched away at it as he 
sat down and said: 

“ You must forgive me. I was in the Marseilles 
express, which left the rails between Dijon and 
Laroche. There were twelve people killed and any 
number injured, whom I had to help. Then I found 
this motor-cycle in the luggage-van. . . . Maitre 
Valandier, you must be good enough to restore it to 
the owner. You will find the label fastened to the 
handle-bar. Ah, you’re back, my boy! Is the taxi 
there? At the corner of the Rue Raynouard? 
Capital!” 

He looked at his watch again: 

“ Hullo! No time to lose! ” 

I stared at him with eager curiosity. But how 
great must the excitement of the d’Ernemont heirs 
have been! True, they had not the same faith in 
Captain Jeanniot that I had in Lupin. Neverthe- 


286 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


less, their faces were pale and drawn. Captain 
Jeanniot turned slowly to the left and walked up 
to the sun-dial. The pedestal represented the figure 
of a man with a powerful torso, who bore on his 
shoulders a marble slab the surface of which had 
been so much worn by time that we could hardly dis¬ 
tinguish the engraved lines that marked the hours. 
Above the slab, a Cupid, with outspread wings, held 
an arrow that served as a gnomon. 

The captain stood leaning forward for a minute, 
with attentive eyes. 

Then he said: 

“ Somebody lend me a knife, please.” 

A clock in the neighborhood struck two. At that 
exact moment, the shadow of the arrow was thrown 
upon the sunlit dial along the line of a crack in the 
marble which divided the slab very nearly in half. 

The captain took the knife handed to him. And 
with the point, very gently, he began to scratch the 
mixture of earth and moss that filled the narrow 
cleft. 

Almost immediately, at a couple of inches from 
the edge, he stopped, as though his knife had en¬ 
countered an obstacle, inserted his thumb and fore¬ 
finger and withdrew a small object which he rubbed 
between the palms of his hands and gave to the 
lawyer: 

“ Here, Maitre Valandier. Something to go on 
with.” 

It was an enormous diamond, the size of a hazel¬ 
nut and beautifully cut. 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


287 


The captain resumed his work. The next mo¬ 
ment, a fresh stop. A second diamond, magnificent 
and brilliant as the first, appeared in sight. 

And then came a third and a fourth. 

In a minute’s time, following the crack from one 
edge to the other and certainly without digging 
deeper than half an inch, the captain had taken out 
eighteen diamonds of the same size. 

During this minute, there was not a cry, not a 
movement around the sun-dial. The heirs seemed 
paralyzed with a sort of stupor. Then the fat 
gentleman muttered: 

“ Geminy! ” 

And the corporal moaned: 

“Oh, captain! . . . Oh, captain! . . .” 

The two sisters fell in a dead faint. The lady 
with the little dog dropped on her knees and prayed, 
while the footman, staggering like a drunken man, 
held his head in his two hands, and Louise d’Erne- 
mont wept. 

When calm was restored and all became eager to 
thank Captain Jeanniot, they saw that he was gone. 

Some years passed before I had an opportunity 
of talking to Lupin about this business. He was 
in a confidential vein and answered: 

“The business of the eighteen diamonds? By 
Jove, when I think that three or four generations of 
my fellow-men had been hunting for the solution! 
And the eighteen diamonds were there all the time, 
under a little mud and dust! ” 


288 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ But how did you guess? . . /’ 

“ I did not guess. I reflected. I doubt if I need 
even have reflected. I was struck, from the begin¬ 
ning, by the fact that the whole circumstance was 
governed by one primary question: the question of 
time. When Charles d’Ernemont was still in pos¬ 
session of his wits, he wrote a date upon the three 
pictures. Later, in the gloom in which he was 
struggling, a faint glimmer of intelligence led him 
every year to the center of the old garden; and the 
same faint glimmer led him away from it every year 
at the same moment, that is to say, at twenty-seven 
minutes past five. Something must have acted on 
the disordered machinery of his brain in this way. 
What was the superior force that controlled the poor 
madman’s movements? Obviously, the instinctive 
notion of time represented by the sun-dial in the 
farmer-general’s pictures. It was the annual revolu¬ 
tion of the earth around the sun that brought Charles 
d’Ernemont back to the garden at a fixed date. And 
it was the earth’s daily revolution upon its own axis 
that took him from it at a fixed hour, that is to say, 
at the hour, most likely, when the sun, concealed by 
objects different from those of to-day, ceased to light 
the Passy garden. Now of all this the sun-dial was 
the symbol. And that is why I at once knew where 
to look.” 

“ But how did you settle the hour at which to begin 
looking? ” 

“ Simply by the pictures. A man living at that 
time, such as Charles d’Ernemont, would have writ- 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 


289 


ten either 26 Germinal, Year II, or else 15 April, 
1794, but not 15 April, Year II. I was astounded 
that no one had thought of that.” 

“ Then the figure 2 stood for two o’clock? ” 

“ Evidently. And what must have happened was 
this: the farmer-general began by turning his fortune 
into solid gold and silver money. Then, by way of 
additional precaution, with this gold and silver he 
bought eighteen wonderful diamonds. When he 
was surprised by the arrival of the patrol, he fled 
into his garden. Which was the best place to hide 
the diamonds ? Chance caused his eyes to light upon 
the sun-dial. It was two o’clock. The shadow of 
the arrow was then falling along the crack in the 
marble. He obeyed this sign of the shadow, 
rammed his eighteen diamonds into the dust and 
calmly went back and surrendered to the soldiers.” 

“ But the shadow of the arrow coincides with the 
crack in the marble every day of the year and not 
only on the 15th of April.” 

“ You forget, my dear chap, that we are dealing 
with a lunatic and that he remembered only this date 
of the 15th of April.” 

“Very well; but you, once you had solved the 
riddle, could easily have made your way into the 
enclosure and taken the diamonds.” 

“ Quite true; and I should not have hesitated, if 
I had had to do with people of another description. 
But I really felt sorry for those poor wretches. And 
then you know the sort of idiot that Lupin is. The 
idea of appearing suddenly as a benevolent genius 


290 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


and amazing his kind would be enough to make him 
commit any sort of folly.” 

“ Tah! ” I cried. “ The folly was not so great 
as all that. Six magnificent diamonds! How de¬ 
lighted the d’Ernemont heirs must have been to fulfill 
their part of the contract! ” 

Lupin looked at me and burst into uncontrollable 
laughter: 

“ So you haven’t heard? Oh, what a joke! The 
delight of the d’Ernemont heirs! . . . Why, my 
dear fellow, on the next day, that worthy Captain 
Jeanniot had so many mortal enemies! On the very 
next day, the two lean sisters and the fat gentleman 
organized an opposition. A contract? Not worth 
the paper it was written on, because, as could easily 
be proved, there was no such person as Captain 
Jeanniot. Where did that adventurer spring from? 
Just let him sue them and they’d soon show him what 
was what! ” 

“ Louise d’Ernemont too? ” 

“ No, Louise d’Ernemont protested against that 
piece of rascality. But what could she do against so 
many? Besides, now that she was rich, she got 
back her young man. I haven’t heard of her since.” 
“So . . .?” 

“ So, my dear fellow, I was caught in a trap, with 
not a leg to stand on, and I had to compromise and 
accept one modest diamond as my share, the smallest 
and the least handsome of the lot. That comes of 
doing one’s best to help people! ” 

And Lupin grumbled between his teeth: 


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 291 

“ Oh, gratitude! . . . All humbug! . . . Where 
should we honest men be if we had not our conscience 
and the satisfaction of duty performed to reward 
us?” 























THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 


By Thomas W. Hanshew 

I 

“ Oh, blow! ” said Dollops disgustedly, as the tele¬ 
phone bell jingled. “ A body never gets a square 
meal in this house now that that blessed thing’s been 
put in! ” Then he laid down his knife and fork, 
scuttled upstairs to the instrument, and unhooked the 
receiver. “ ’Ullo! Wot’s the rumpus? ” he shouted 
into it. “Yus, this is Captain Burbage’s. Wot? 
No, he ain’t in. Dunno when he will be. Dunno 
where he is. Who is it as wants him? If there’s 
any message-” 

The sound of some one whistling softly the open¬ 
ing bars of the national anthem at the other end of 
the wire cut in upon his words and filled him with a 
sudden deep and startled interest. 

“ Oh, s’help me! ” he said, with a sort of gasp. 
“ The Yard! ” Then, lowering his voice to a shrill 
whisper, “That you, Mr. Narkom? Beg yer par¬ 
don, sir. Yus, it’s me — Dollops. Wot? No, sir. 
Went out two hours ago. Gone to Kensington 
Palace Gardens. Tulips is out, and you couldn’t 
hold him indoors with a chain at tulip time. Yus, 
sir — top hat, gray spats; same’s the captain always 
wears, sir.” 

From “Cleek, the Master Detective,” Copyright, 1918, by 
Doubleday, Page, & Company. 

203 



294 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


Narkom, at the other end of the line, called back: 
“ If I miss him, if he comes in without seeing me, tell 
him to wait; I’ll be round before three. Good- 
by! ” then hung up the receiver and turned to the 
gentleman who stood by the window on the other 
side of the private office agitatedly twirling the end 
of his thick gray-threaded mustache with one hand, 
while with the other he drummed a nervous tattoo 
upon the broad oaken sill. “ Not at home, Sir 
Henry; but fortunately I know where to find him 
with but little loss of time,” he said, and pressed 
twice upon an electric button beside his desk. “ My 
motor will be at the door in a couple of minutes, and 
with ordinary luck we ought to be able to pick him up 
inside of the next half hour.” 

Sir Henry — Sir Henry Wilding, Bart., to give him 
his full name and title — a handsome, well set-up man 
of about forty years of age, well groomed, and with 
the upright bearing which comes of military training, 
twisted round on his heel at this and gave the super¬ 
intendent an almost grateful look. 

“ I hope so, God knows, I hope so, Mr. Narkom,” 
he said agitatedly. “ Time is the one important 
thing at present. The suspense and uncertainty are 
getting on my nerves so horribly that the very 
minutes seem endless. Remember, there are only 
three days before the race, and if those rascals, who¬ 
ever they are, get at Black Riot before then, God 
help me, that’s all! And if this man Cleek can’t 
probe the diabolical mystery, they will get at her, too, 
and put Logan where they put Tolliver, the brutes! ” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 295 

“ You may trust Cleek to see that they don’t, Sir 
Henry. It is just the kind of case he will glory in; 
and if Black Riot is all that you believe her, you’ll 
carry off the Derby plate in spite of these enterpris¬ 
ing gentry who — Hallo ! here’s the motor. Clap 
on your hat, Sir Henry, and come along. Mind the 
step ! Kensington Palace Gardens, Lennard — and 
as fast as you can streak it.” 

The chauffeur proved that he could “ streak it ” as 
close to the margin of the speed limits as the law 
dared wink at, even in the case of the well-known red 
limousine, and in a little over twenty minutes pulled 
up before the park gates. Narkom jumped out, 
beckoned Sir Henry to follow him, and together they 
hurried into the grounds in quest of Cleek. 

Where the famous tulip beds made splotches of 
brilliant color against the clear emerald of the closely 
clipped grass they came upon him, a solitary figure 
in the garb of the elderly seaman, “ Captain Bur¬ 
bage, of Clarges Street,” seated on one of the garden 
benches, his hands folded over the knob of his thick 
walking-stick and his chin resting upon them, staring 
fixedly at the gorgeous flowers and apparently deaf 
and blind to all else. 

He was not, however, for as the superintendent 
approached without altering his gaze or his attitude 
in the slightest particle, he said with the utmost calm¬ 
ness: “Superb, are they not, my friend? What a 
pity they should be scentless. It is as though 
Heaven had created a butterfly and deprived it of 
the secret of flight. Walk on, please, without ad- 


296 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


dressing me. I am quite friendly with that police¬ 
man yonder, and I do not wish him to suspect that 
the elderly gentleman he is so kind to is in any way 
connected with the Yard. Examine the tulips. 
That’s right. You came in your limousine, of 
course? Where is it?” 

“ Just outside the gates, at the end of the path on 
the right,” replied Narkom, halting with Sir Henry 
and appearing to be wholly absorbed in pointing out 
the different varieties of tulips. 

“ Good,” replied Cleek, apparently taking not the 
slightest notice. “ I’ll toddle on presently, and 
when you return from inspecting the flowers you will 
find me inside the motor awaiting you.” 

“ Do, old chap, and please hurry; time is every¬ 
thing in this case. Let me introduce you to your 
client. (Keep looking at the flowers, please, Sir 
Henry.) I have the honor to make you acquainted 
with Sir Henry Wilding, Cleek; he needs you, my 
dear fellow.” 

“ Delighted — in both instances. My compli¬ 
ments, Sir Henry. By any chance that Sir Henry 
Wilding whose mare, Black Riot, is the favorite for 
next Wednesday’s Derby? ” 

“ Yes, that very man, Mr. Cleek; and if-” 

“Don’t get excited and don’t turn, please; our 
friend the policeman is looking this way. What’s 
the case? One of ‘nobbling’? Somebody trying 
to get at the mare? ” 

“ Yes. A desperate ‘ somebody,’ who doesn’t 
stop even at murder. A very devil incarnate who 



THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 297 

seems to possess the power of invisibility and who 
strikes in the dark. Save me, Mr. Geek I All I’ve 
got in the world is at stake, and if anything happens 
to Black Riot, I’m a ruined man.” 

“ Yar-r-r! ” yawned the elderly sea captain, rising 
and stretching. “ I do believe, constable, I’ve been 
asleep. Warm weather this for May. A glorious 
week for Epsom. Shan’t see you to-morrow, I’m 
afraid. Perhaps shan’t see you until Thursday. 
Here, take that, my lad, and have half-a-crown’s 
worth on Black Riot for the Derby; she’ll win it, 
sure.” 

“ Thanky, sir. Good luck to you, sir.” 

“ Same to you, my lad. Good day.” Then the 
old gentleman in the top hat and gray spats moved 
slowly away, passed down the tree-shaded walk, 
passed the romping children, passed the Princess 
Louise’s statue of Queen Victoria, and, after a mo¬ 
ment, vanished. Ten minutes later, when Narkom 
and Sir Henry returned to the waiting motor, they 
found him seated within it awaiting them,~as he had 
promised. Giving Lennard orders to drive about 
slowly in the least frequented quarters, while they 
talked, the superintendent got in with Sir Henry, and 
opened fire on the “ case ” without further delay. 

“ My dear Cleek,” he said, “ as you appear to 
know all about Sir Henry and his famous mare, 
there’s no need to go into that part of the subject, so 
I may as well begin by telling you at once that Sir 
Henry has come up to town for the express purpose 
of getting you to go down to his place in Suffolk to- 


298 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


night in company with him. You are his only hope 
of outwitting a diabolical agency which has set out to 
get at the horse and put it out of commission before 
Derby Day, and in the most mysterious, the most 
inscrutable manner ever heard of, my dear chap. 
Already one groom who sat up to watch with her has 
been killed, another hopelessly paralyzed, and to¬ 
night Logan, the mare’s trainer, is to sit up with her 
in the effort to balk the almost superhuman rascal 
who is at the bottom of it all. Conceive, if you can, 
my dear fellow, a power so crafty, so diabolical, that 
it gets into a locked and guarded stable, gets in, my 
dear Cleek, despite four men constantly pacing back 
and forth before each and every window and door 
that leads into the place and with a groom on guard 
inside, and then gets out again in the same mysterious 
manner without having been seen or heard by a living 
soul. In addition to all the windows being small and 
covered with a grille of iron, a fact which would 
make it impossible for any one to get in or out once 
the doors were closed and guarded, Sir Henry him¬ 
self will tell you that the stable has been ransacked 
from top to bottom, every hole and every corner 
probed into, and not a living creature of any sort dis¬ 
covered. Yet only last night the groom, Tolliver, 
was set upon inside the place and killed outright in 
his efforts to protect the horse; killed, Cleek, with 
four men patroling outside, and willing to swear, 
each and every one of them, that nothing and no one, 
either man, woman, child, or beast, passed them 
going in or getting out from sunset until dawn.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 299 

“ Hum-m-! ” said Cleek, sucking in his lower lip. 
“ Mysterious, to say the least. Was there no strug¬ 
gle ? Did the men on guard hear no cry? ” 

“ In the case of the first groom, Murple, the one 
that was paralyzed — no,” said Sir Henry, as the 
question was addressed to him. “ But in the case of 
Tolliver — yes. The men heard him cry out, heard 
him call out ‘ help! ’ but by the time they could get 
the doors open it was all over. He was lying 
doubled up before the entrance to Black Riot’s stall, 
with his face to the floor, as dead as Julius Caesar, 
poor fellow, and not a sign of anybody anywhere.” 

“ And the horse? Did anybody get at that? ” 

“ No; for the best of reasons. As soon as these 
attacks began, Mr. Cleek, I sent up to London. A 
gang of twenty-four men came down, with steel 
plates, steel joists, steel posts, and in seven hours’ 
time Black Riot’s box was converted into a sort of 
safe, to which I alone hold the key the instant it is 
locked up for the night. A steel grille about half a 
foot deep, and so tightly meshed that nothing bigger 
than a mouse could pass through, runs all round the 
enclosure close to the top of the walls, and this sup¬ 
plies ventilation. When the door is closed at night, 
it automatically connects itself with an electric gong 
in my own bedroom, so that the slightest attempt to 
open it, or even to touch it, would hammer out an 
alarm close to my head.” 

“ Has it ever done so? ” 

“ Yes, last night, when Tolliver was killed.” 
u How killed, Sir Henry? Stabbed or shot? ” 


300 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Neither. He appeared to have been strangled, 
poor fellow, and to have died in most awful agony.” 

“ Strangled! But, my dear sir, that would hardly 
have been possible in so short a time. You say your 
men heard him call out for help. Granted that it 
took them a full minute — and it probably did not 
take them half one — to open the doors, and come 
to his assistance, he would not be stone dead in so 
short a time; and he was stone dead when they got 
in, I believe you said? ” 

“ Yes. God knows what killed him, the coroner 
will find that out, no doubt, but there was no blood 
shed and no mark upon him that I could see.” 

“ Hum-m-m! Was there any mark on the door 
of the steel stall? ” 

“ Yes. A long scratch, somewhat semi-circular, 
and sweeping downward at the lower extremity. It 
began close to the lock and ended about a foot and 
a half lower.” 

“ Undoubtedly, you see, Cleek,” put in Narkom, 
“ some one tried to force an entrance to the steel 
room and get at the mare, but the prompt arrival 
of the men on guard outside the stable prevented 
his doing so.” 

Cleek made no response. Just at that moment 
the limousine was gliding past a building whose 
courtyard was one blaze of parrot tulips, and, his eye 
caught by the flaming colors, he was staring at them 
and reflectively rubbing his thumb and forefinger up 
and down his chin. After a moment, however: 

“ Tell me something, Sir Henry,” he said 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 301 

abruptly. “ Is anybody interested in your not put¬ 
ting Black Riot into the field on Derby Day? Any¬ 
body with whom you have a personal acquaintance, 
I mean, for of course I know there are other owners 
who would be glad enough to see him scratched. 
But is there anybody who would have a particular 
interest in your failure? n 

“Yes — one: Major Lambson-Bowles, owner of 
Minnow. Minnow’s second favorite, as perhaps 
you know. It would delight Lambson-Bowles to see 
me ‘ go under and, as I’m so certain of Black Riot 
that I’ve mortgaged every stick and stone I have in 
the world to back her, I should go under if anything 
happened to the mare. That would suit Lambson- 
Bowles down to the ground.” 

“ Bad blood between you, then? ” 

“Yes, very. The fellow’s a brute, and — I 
thrashed him once, as he deserved, the bounder. It 
may interest you to know that my only sister was his 
first wife. He led her a dog’s life, poor girl, and 
death was a merciful release to her. Twelve 
months ago he married a rich American woman, 
widow of a man who made millions in hides and 
leather. That’s when Lambson-Bowles took up 
racing and how he got the money to keep a stud. 
Had the beastly bad taste, too, to come down to 
Suffolk — within a gunshot of Wilding Hall — take 
Elmslie Manor, the biggest place in the neighbor¬ 
hood, and cut a dash under my very nose, as it 
were.” 

“ Oho! ” said Cleek; “ then the major is a neigh- 


302 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


bor as well as a rival for the Derby plate. I see! 
I see!” 

“ No, you don’t — altogether,” said Sir Henry 
quickly. “ Lambson-Bowles is a brute and a 
bounder in many ways, but — well, I don’t believe he 
is low-down enough to do this sort of thing, and 
with murder attached to it, too, although he did try 
to bribe poor Tolliver to leave me. Offered my 
trainer double wages, too, to chuck me and take up 
his horses.” 

“ Oh, he did that, did he? Sure of it, Sir 
Henry?” 

“ Absolutely. Saw the letter he wrote to 
Logan.” 

“ Hum-m-m! Feel that you can rely on Logan, 
do you? ” 

“ To the last gasp. He’s as true to me as my 
own shadow. If you want proof of it, Mr. Cleek, 
he’s going to sit in the stable and keep guard him¬ 
self to-night, in the face of what happened to Murple 
and Tolliver.” 

“ Murple is the groom who was paralyzed, is he 
not?” said Cleek, after a moment. “Singular 
thing that. What paralyzed him, do you think? ” 

“ Heaven knows. He might just as well have 
been killed as poor Tolliver was, for he’ll never be 
any use again, the doctors say. Some injury to the 
spinal column, and with it a curious affection of the 
throat and tongue. He can neither swallow nor 
speak. Nourishment has to be administered by tube, 
and the tongue is horribly swollen.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 303 

“ I am of the opinion, Cleek,” put in Narkom, 
“ that strangulation is merely part of the procedure 
of the rascal who makes these diabolical nocturnal 
visits. In other words, that he is armed with some 
quick-acting infernal poison, which he forces into 
the mouths of his victims. That paralysis of the 
muscles of the throat is one of the symptoms of prus¬ 
sic acid poisoning, you must remember.” 

“ I do remember, Mr. Narkom,” replied Cleek 
enigmatically. “ My memory is much stimulated by 
these details, I assure you. I gather from them 
that, whatever is administered, Murple did not get 
quite so much of it as Tolliver, or he, too, would be 
dead. Sir Henry ”— he turned again to the baronet 
—“ do you trust everybody else connected with your 
establishment as much as you trust Logan? ” 

“ Yes. There’s not a servant connected with the 
hall that hasn’t been in my service for years, and all 
are loyal to me.” 

“ May I ask who else is in the house besides the 
servants? ” 

“ My wife, Lady Wilding, for one; her cousin, 
Mr. Sharpless, who is on a visit to us, for another; 
and for a third, my uncle, the Rev. Ambrose Smeer, 
the famous revivalist.” 

“ Mr. Smeer does not approve of the race track, 
of course? ” 

“ No, he does not. He is absurdly ‘ narrow ’ on 
some subjects, and ‘ sport ’ of all sorts is one of 
them. But, beyond that, he is a dear, lovable, old 
fellow, of whom I am amazingly fond.” 


304 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ Hum-m-m! And Lady Wilding and Mr. 
Sharpless, do they, too, disapprove of racing?” 

“ Quite to the contrary. Both are enthusiastic 
upon the subject and both have the utmost faith in 
Black Riot’s certainty of winning. Lady Wilding 
is something more than attached to the mare; and 
as for Mr. Sharpless, he is so upset over these ras¬ 
cally attempts that every morning when the steel 
room is opened and the animal taken out, although 
nothing ever happens in the daylight, he won’t let 
her get out of his sight for a single instant until she 
is groomed and locked up for the night. He is so 
incensed, so worked up over this diabolical business, 
that I verily believe if he caught any stranger com¬ 
ing near the mare he’d shoot him in his tracks.” 

“ Hum-m-m! ” said Cleek abstractedly, and then 
sat silent for a long time staring at his spats and 
moving one thumb slowly round the breadth of the 
other, his fingers interlaced and his lower lip pushed 
upward over the one above. 

“ There, that’s the case, Cleek,” said Narkom, 
after a time. “ Do you make anything out of 
it?” 

“ Yes,” he replied; “ I make a good deal out of it, 
Mr. Narkom, but, like the language of the man who 
stepped on the banana skin, it isn’t fit for publica¬ 
tion. One question more, Sir Henry. Heaven for¬ 
bid it, of course, but if anything should happen to 
Logan to-night, who would you put on guard over 
the horse to-morrow?” 

“ Do you think I could persuade anybody if a 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 305 

third man perished? ” said the baronet, answering 
one question with another. “ I don’t believe 
there’s a groom in England who’d take the risk for 
love or money. There would be nothing for it but 
to do the watching myself. What’s that? Do it? 
Certainly, I’d do it! Everybody that knows me 
knows that.” 

“ Ah, I see! ” said Cleek, and lapsed into silence 
again. 

“But you’ll come, won’t you?” exclaimed Sir 
Henry agitatedly. “ It won’t happen if you take up 
the case; Mr. Narkom tells me he is sure of that. 
Come with me, Mr. Cleek. My motor is waiting 
at the garage. Come back with me, for God’s sake, 
for humanity’s sake, and get at the bottom of the 
thing.” 

“ Yes,” said Cleek in reply. “ Give Lennard the 
address of the garage, please; and — Mr. 
Narkom?” 

“Yes, old chap?” 

“ Pull up at the first grocer’s shop you see, will 
you, and buy me a couple of pounds of the best white 
flour that’s milled; and if you can’t manage to get 
me either a sieve or a flour dredger, a tin pepper-pot 
will do!” 


II 

It was two o’clock when Sir Henry Wilding’s 
motor turned its back upon the outskirts of London, 
and it was a quarter past seven when it whirled up 


306 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


to the stables of Wilding Hall, and the baronet and 
his gray-headed, bespectacled and gray-spatted com¬ 
panion alighted, having taken five hours and a 
quarter to make a journey which the trains which 
run daily between Liverpool Street and Darsham 
make in four. 

As a matter of fact, however, they really had out¬ 
stripped the train, but it had been Cleek’s pleasure 
to make two calls on the way, one at Saxmundham, 
where the paralyzed Murple lay in the infirmary of 
the local practitioner, the other at the mortuary 
where the body of Tolliver was retained, awaiting the 
sitting of the coroner. Both the dead and the still 
living man Cleek had subjected to a critical personal 
examination, but whether either furnished him with 
any suggested clew he did not say. The only re¬ 
mark he made upon the subject was when Sir Henry, 
on hearing from Murple’s wife that the doctor had 
said he would probably not last the week out, had 
inquired if the woman knew where to “ put her hand 
on the receipt for the payment of the last premium, 
so that her claim could be sent in to the life assur¬ 
ance company without delay when the end came.” 

“ Tell me something, Sir Henry,” said Cleek, 
when he heard that, and noticed how gratefully the 
woman looked at the baronet when she replied, 
“ Yes, Sir Henry, God bless you, sir! ” “ Tell me, 

if it is not an impertinent question, did you take out 
an insurance policy on Murple’s life and pay the 
premium on it yourself? I gathered the idea that 
you did from the manner in which the woman spoke 
to you.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 307 

“ Yes, I did,” replied Sir Henry. “ As a matter 
of fact, I take out a similar policy, payable to the 
widow, for every married man I employ in connec¬ 
tion with my racing stud.” 

“ May I ask why? ” 

“ Well, for one thing, they usually are too poor 
and have too many children to support to be able to 
take it out for themselves, and exercising racers has 
a good many risks. Then, for another thing, I’m 
a firm believer in the policy of life assurance. It’s 
just so much money laid up in safety, and one never 
knows what may happen.” 

“ Then it is fair,” said Cleek, “ to suppose, in 
that case, that you have taken out one on your own 
life?” 

“ Yes — rather! And a whacking big one, too.” 

“ And Lady Wilding is, of course, the bene¬ 
ficiary? ” 

“ Certainly. There are no children, you know. 
As a matter of fact, we have been married only seven 
months. Before the date of my wedding the policy 
was in my Uncle Ambrose’s, the Rev. Mr. Smeer’s, 
favor.” 

“ Ah, I see! ” said Cleek reflectively. Then fell 
to thinking deeply over the subject, and was still 
thinking of it when the motor whizzed into the 
stableyard at Wilding Hall and brought him into 
contact for the first time with the trainer, Logan. 
He didn’t much fancy Logan at first blush, and 
Logan didn’t fancy him at all at any time. 

“ Hur! ” he said disgustedly, in a stage aside to 


308 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


his master as Cleek stood on the threshold of the 
stable, with his head thrown back and his chin at an 
angle, sniffing the air somewhat after the manner of 
a bird-dog. “ Hur! If un’s the best Scotland Yard 
could let out to ye, sir, a half-baked old softy like 
that, the rest of ’em must be a blessed poor lot, 
Ah’m thinkin’. What’s un doin’ now, the noodle? 
— snuffin’ the air like he did not understand the 
smell of it! He’d not be expectin’ a stable to be 
scented with eau de cologne, would he? What’s un 
name, sir? ” 

“ Cleek.” 

“ Hur! Sounds like a golf-stick an’ Ah’ve no 
doubt he’s got a head like one: main thick and with 
a twist in un. I dunna like ’tecs, Sir Henry, and I 
dunna like this one especial. Who’s to tell as he 
aren’t in with they devils as is after Black Riot? 
Naw! I dunna like him at all.” 

Meantime, serenely unconscious of the displeas¬ 
ure he had excited in Logan’s breast, Cleek went on 
sniffing the air and “ poking about,” as he phrased 
it, in all corners of the stable; and when, a moment 
later, Sir Henry went in and joined him, he was 
standing before the door of the steel room examin¬ 
ing the curving scratch of which the baronet had 
spoken. 

“ What do you make of it, Mr. Cleek? ” 

“ Not much in the way of a clew, Sir Henry, a clew 
to any possible intruder, I mean. If your artistic 
soul hadn’t rebelled against bare steel, which would, 
of course, have soon rusted in this ammonia-impreg- 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 309 

nated atmosphere, and led you to put a coat of paint 
over the metal, there would have been no mark at 
all, the thing is so slight. I am of the opinion that 
Tolliver himself caused it. In short, that it was 
made by either a pin or a cuff button in his wrist¬ 
band when he was attacked and fell. But enlighten 
me upon a puzzling point, Sir Henry: What do 
you use coriander and oil of sassafras for in a 
stable?” 

“ Coriander? Oil of sassafras? I don’t know 
what the dickens they are. Have you found such 
things here ? ” 

“ No; simply smelt them. The combination is not 
usual — indeed, I know of but one race in the world 
who make any use of it, and they merely for a pur¬ 
pose which, of course, could not possibly exist here, 
unless-” 

He allowed the rest of the sentence to go by de¬ 
fault, and, turning, looked all round the place. For 
the first time he seemed to notice something unusual 
for the equipment of a stable, and regarded it with 
silent interest. It was nothing more or less than a 
box, covered with sheets of virgin cork, and stand¬ 
ing on the floor just under one of the windows, 
where the light and air could get to a weird-looking, 
rubbery-leaved, orchid-like plant, covered with 
ligulated scarlet blossoms which grew within it. 

“ Sir Henry,” he said, after a moment, “ may I 
ask how long it is since you were in South America ? ” 

“I? Never was there in my life, Mr. Cleek — 
never.” 



310 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ Ah! Then who connected with the hall has 
been? ” 

“ Oh, I see what you are driving at,” said Sir 
Henry, following the direction of his gaze. “ That 
Patagonian plant, eh? That belonged to poor Tol¬ 
liver. He had a strange fancy for ferns and rock 
plants and things of that description, and as that 
particular specimen happens to be one that does bet¬ 
ter in the atmosphere of a stable than elsewhere, he 
kept it in here.” 

“ Who told him that it does better in the at¬ 
mosphere of a stable? ” 

“ Lady Wilding’s cousin, Mr. Sharpless. It was 
he who gave Tolliver the plant.” 

“ Oho! Then Mr. Sharpless has been to South 
America, has he? ” 

“ Why, yes. As a matter of fact, he comes from 
there; so also does Lady Wilding. I should have 
thought you would have remembered that, Mr. 

Cleek, when- But perhaps you have never 

heard? She — they — they — that is,” stammer¬ 
ing confusedly and coloring to the temples, “ up to 
seven months ago, Mr. Cleek, Lady Wilding was on 
the — er — music-hall stage. She and Mr. Sharp¬ 
less were known as ‘ Signor Morando and Le Belle 
Creole ’ and they did a living statue turn together. 
It was highly artistic; people raved; I — er — fell 
in love with the lady and — that’s all! ” 

But it wasn’t; for Cleek, reading between the lines, 
saw that the mad infatuation which had brought the 
lady a title and an over-generous husband had sim- 



THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 311 

mered down as such things always do sooner or 
later and that the marriage was very far from being 
a happy one. As a matter of fact, he learned later 
that the county, to a woman, had refused to accept 
Lady Wilding; that her ladyship, chafing under this 
ostracism, was for having a number of her old pro¬ 
fessional friends come down to visit her and make 
a time of it, and that, on Sir Henry’s objecting, a 
violent quarrel had ensued, and the Rev. Ambrose 
Smeer had come down to the hall in the effort to 
make peace. And he learned something else that 
night which gave him food for deep reflection: the 
Rev. Ambrose Smeer, too, had been to South 
America. When he met that gentleman, in spite of 
the fact that Sir Henry thought so highly of him, 
and it was known that his revival meetings had done 
a world of good, Cleek did not fancy the Rev. Am¬ 
brose Smeer any more than he fancied the trainer, 
Logan. 

But to return to the present. By this time the 
late-falling twilight of May had begun to close in, 
and presently — as the day was now done and the 
night approaching — Logan led in Black Riot from 
the paddock, followed by a slim, sallow-featured, 
small-mustached man, bearing a shotgun, and 
dressed in gray tweeds. Sir Henry, who, it was 
plain to see, had a liking for the man, introduced 
this newcomer to Cleek as the South American, Mr. 
Andrew Sharpless. 

“ That’s the English of it, Mr. Cleek,” said the 
latter jovially, but with an undoubted Spanish twist 


312 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


to the tongue. “ I wouldn’t have you risk breaking 
your jaw with the Brazilian original. Delighted to 
meet you, sir. I hope to Heaven you will get at the 
bottom of this diabolical thing. What do you think, 
Henry? Lambson-Bowles’s jockey was over in this 
neighborhood this afternoon. Trying to see how 
Black Riot shapes, of course, the bounder! For¬ 
tunately, I saw him skulking along on the other side 
of the hedge, and gave him two minutes in which to 
make himself scarce. If he hadn’t, if he had come 
a step nearer to the mare, I’d have shot him down 
like a dog. That’s right, Logan, put her up for the 
night, old chap, and I’ll get out your bedding.” 

“ Aye,” said Logan, through his clamped teeth, 
“ and God help man or devil that comes a-nigh her 
this night. God help him, Lunnon Mister, that’s 
all Ah say! ” Then he passed into the steel room 
with the mare, attended her for the night, and, com¬ 
ing out a minute or two later, locked her up and gave 
Sir Henry the key. 

“ Broke her and trained her, Ah did; and willin’ 
to die for her, Ah am, if Ah can’t pull un through 
no other way,” he said, pausing before Cleek and 
giving him a black look. “ A Derby winner her’s 
cut out for, Lunnon Mister, and a Derby winner 
her’s goin’ to be, in spite of all the Lambson- 
Bowleses and the low-down horse-nobblers in Chris¬ 
tendom!” Then he switched round and walked 
over to Sharpless, who had taken a pillow and a 
bundle of blankets from the convenient cupboard, 
and was making a bed of them on the floor at the 
foot of the locked steel door. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 313 

“ Thanky, sir, ’bliged to un, sir,” said Logan, as 
Sharpless hung up the shotgun and, with a word to 
the baronet, excused himself and went in to dress 
for dinner. Then he faced round again on Cleek, 
who was once more sniffing the air, and pointed to 
the rude bed: “ There’s where Ted Logan sleeps 
this night — there!” he went on suddenly; “and 
them as tries to get at Black Riot comes to grips with 
me first, me and the shotgun Mr. Sharpless has left 
Ah. And if Ah shoot, Lunnon Mister, Ah shoot to 
kill!” 

Cleek turned to the baronet. 

“ Do me a favor, Sir Henry,” he said. “ For rea¬ 
sons of my own, I want to be in this stable alone for 
the next ten minutes, and after that let no one come 
into it until morning. I won’t be accountable for 
this man’s life if he stops in here to-night, and for 
his sake, as well as for your own, I want you to for¬ 
bid him to do so.” 

Logan seemed to go nearly mad with rage at this. 

“ Ah won’t listen to it! Ah will stop here, Ah 
will! Ah will! ” he cried out in a passion. “ Who 
comes ull find Ah here waitin’ to come to grips with 
un. Ah won’t stop out — Ah won’t! Don’t un 
listen to Lunnon Mister, Sir Henry, for God’s sake, 
don’t!” 

“ I am afraid I must, in this instance, Logan. 
You are far too suspicious, my good fellow. Mr. 
Cleek doesn’t want to ‘ get at ’ the mare; he wants 
to protect her: to keep anybody else from getting 
at her, so join the guard outside if you are so eager. 


314 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

You must let him have his way.” And, in spite of 
all Logan’s pleading, Cleek did have his way. 

Protesting, swearing, almost weeping, the trainer 
was turned out and the doors closed, leaving Cleek 
alone in the stable; and the last Logan and Sir Henry 
saw of him until he came out and rejoined them 
he was standing in the middle of the floor, with his 
hands on both hips, staring fixedly at the impromptu 
bed in front of the steel-room door. 

“ Put on the guard now and see that nobody goes 
into the place until morning, Sir Henry,” he said, 
when he came out and rejoined them some minutes 
later. “ Logan, you silly fellow, you’ll do no good 
fighting against Fate. Make the best of it and stop 
where you are.” 

That night Cleek met Lady Wilding for the first 
time. He found her what he afterward termed “ a 
splendid animal,” beautiful, statuesque, more of Juno 
than of Venus, and freely endowed with the languor¬ 
ous temperament and the splendid earthy loveliness 
which grows nowhere but under tropical skies and 
in the shadow of palm groves and the flame of cac¬ 
tus flowers. She showed him but scant courtesy, 
however, for she was but a poor hostess, and after 
dinner carried her cousin away to the billiard-room, 
and left her husband to entertain the Rev. Ambrose 
and the detective as best he could. Cleek needed 
but little entertaining, however, for in spite of his 
serenity he was full of the case on hand, and kept 
wandering in and out of the house and upstairs and 
down until eleven o’clock came and bed claimed him 
with the rest. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 315 

His last wakeful recollection was of the clock in 
the lower corridor striking the first quarter after 
eleven; then sleep claimed him, and he knew no more 
until all the stillness was suddenly shattered by a 
loud-voiced gong hammering out an alarm and the 
sound of people tumbling out of bed and scurrying 
about in a panic of fright. He jumped out of bed, 
pulled on his clothing, and rushed out into the hall, 
only to find it alive with startled people, and at their 
head Sir Henry, with a dressing-gown thrown on 
over his pajamas and a bedroom candle in his shak¬ 
ing hand. 

“ The stable! ” he cried out excitedly. “ Come 
on, come on, for God’s sake. Some one has touched 
the door of the steel room; and yet the place was left 
empty, empty! ” 

But it was no longer empty, as they found out 
when they reached it, for the doors had been flung 
open, the men who had been left on guard outside 
the stables were now inside it, the electric lights were 
in full blaze, the shotgun still hanging where Sharp¬ 
less had left it, the impromptu bed was tumbled and 
tossed in a man’s death agony, and at the foot of the 
steel door Logan lay, curled up in a heap and stone 
dead! 

“ He would get in, Sir Henry; he’d have shot one 
or the other of us if we hadn’t let him,” said one of 
the outer guards, as Sir Henry and Cleek appeared. 
“ He would lie before the door and watch, sir, he 
simply would; and God have mercy on him, poor 
chap; he was faithful to the last! ” 


316 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


“ And the last might not have come for years, the 
fool, if he had only obeyed,” said Cleek; then lapsed 
into silence and stood staring at a dust of white flour 
on the red-tiled floor and a thin wavering line that 
broke the even surface of it. 


Ill 

It was perhaps two minutes later when the entire 
household, mistress, guests, and servants alike, came 
trooping across the open space between the hall and 
the stables in a state of semi-dishabille, but in that 
brief space of time friendly hands had reverently 
lifted the body of the dead man from its place be¬ 
fore the steel door, and Sir Henry was nervously 
fitting the key to the lock in a frantic effort to get 
in and see if Black Riot was safe. 

“ Dios! what is it? What has happened? ” cried 
Lady Wilding, as she came hurrying in, followed 
closely by Sharpless and the Rev. Ambrose Smeer. 
Then, catching sight of Logan’s body, she gave a lit¬ 
tle scream and covered her eyes. “ The trainer, 
Andrew, the trainer now! ” she went on half hyster¬ 
ically. “ Another death — another! Surely they 
have got the wretch at last? ” 

“ The mare! The mare, Henry! Is she safe? ” 
exclaimed Sharpless excitedly, as he whirled away 
from his cousin’s side and bore down upon the 
baronet. “ Give me the key, you’re too nervous.” 
And, taking it from him, unlocked the steel room 
and passed swiftly into it. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 317; 

In another instant Black Riot was led out, unin¬ 
jured, untouched, in the very pink of condition and, 
in spite of the tragedy and the dead man’s presence, 
one or two of the guards were so carried away that 
they essayed a cheer. 

“ Stop that! Stop it instantly! ” rapped out Sir 
Henry, facing round upon them. “ What’s a horse, 
even the best, beside the loss of an honest life like 
that? ” and flung out a shaking hand in the direction 
of dead Logan. “ It will be the story of last night 
over again, of course ? You heard his scream, heard 
his fall, but he was dead when you got to him — 
dead — and you found no one here? ” 

“ Not a soul, Sir Henry. The doors were all 
locked; no grille is missing from any window; no 
one is in the loft; no one in any of the stalls; no one 
in any crook or corner of the place.” 

“ Send for the constable, the justice of the peace, 
anybody!” chimed in the Rev. Ambrose Smeer at 
this. “ Henry, will you never be warned; never 
take these awful lessons to heart? This sinful 
practice of racing horses for money-” 

“ Oh, hush, hush! Don’t preach me a sermon 
now, uncle,” interposed Sir Henry. “ My heart’s 
torn, my mind crazed by this abominable thing. 
Poor old Logan! Poor, faithful old chap! Oh! ” 
He whirled and looked over at Cleek, who still stood 
inactive, staring at the flour-dusted floor. “ And 
they said that no mystery was too great for you to 
get at the bottom of it, no riddle too complex for 
you to find the answer. Can’t you do something? 



318 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

Can’t you suggest something? Can’t you see any 
glimmer of light at all? ” 

Cleek looked up, and that curious smile which 
Narkom knew so well, and would have known had 
he been there was the “ danger signal,” looped up 
one corner of his mouth. 

“ I fancy it is all 1 light,’ Sir Henry,” he said. 
“ I may be wrong, but I fancy it is merely a ques¬ 
tion of comparative height. Do I puzzle you by 
that? Well, let me explain. Lady Wilding there 
is one height, Mr. Sharpless is another, and I am a 
third; and if they two were to place themselves side 
by side, and, say, about four inches apart, and I were 
to stand immediately behind them, the difference 
would be most apparent. There you are. Do you 
grasp it? ” 

“ Not in the least.” 

“ Bothered if I do either,” supplemented Sharp¬ 
less. “ It all sounds like tommy rot to me.” 

“ Does it? ” said Cleek. “ Then let me explain 
it by illustration,” and he walked quietly toward 
them. “ Lady Wilding, will you oblige me by 
standing here? Thank you very much. Now, if 
you please, Mr. Sharpless, will you stand beside her 
ladyship while I take up my place here immediately 
behind you both? That’s it exactly. A little 
nearer, please — just a little, so that your left el¬ 
bow touches her ladyship’s right. Now then,” his 
two hands moved briskly, there was a click-click; and 
then: “There you are; that explains it, my good 
Mr. and Mrs. Filippo Bucarelli; explains it com¬ 
pletely ! ” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 319 

And as he stepped aside on saying this, those who 
were watching, those who heard Lady Wilding’s 
scream and Mr. Sharpless’s snarling oath and saw 
them vainly try to spring apart and dart away, saw 
also that a steel handcuff was on the woman’s wrist, 
its mate on the man’s left one, and that they were 
firmly chained together. 

“ In the name of heaven, man,” began Sir Henry, 
appalled by this, and growing red and white by 
rapid turns. 

“ I fancy that heaven has very little to do with 
this precious pair, Sir Henry,” interposed Cleek. 
“ You want the two people who are accountable for 
these diabolical crimes, and there they stand.” 

“ What! Do you mean to tell me that Sharpless, 
that my wife-” 

“ Don’t give the lady a title to which she has not 
and never had any legal right, Sir Henry. If it had 
ever occurred to you to emulate my example to-night 
and search the lady’s effects, you would have found 
that she was christened Enriqua Dolores Torjada, 
and that she was married to Senor Filippo Bucarelli 
here, at Valparaiso in Chili, three years ago, and 
that her marriage to you was merely a clever little 
scheme to get hold of a pot of money and share it 
with her rascally husband.” 

“ It’s a lie! ” snarled out the male prisoner. 
“ It’s an infernal policeman’s lie! You never found 
any such thing! ” 

“ Pardon me, but I did,” replied Cleek serenely. 
“ And what’s more, I found the little phial of corian- 



320 


FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 


der and oil of sassafras in your room, senor, and I 
shall finish off the Mynga Worm in another ten min¬ 
utes ! ” 

Bucarelli and his wife gave a mingled cry, and, 
chained together though they were, made a wild bolt 
for the door; only, however, to be met on the 
threshold by the local constable to whom Cleek had 
dispatched a note some hours previously. 

“Thank you, Mr. Philpotts; you are very 
prompt,” he said. “ There are your prisoners nicely 
trussed and waiting for you. Take them away, we 
are quite done with them here. Sir Henry ”— he 
turned to the baronet —“ if Black Riot is fitted to 
win the Derby she will win it and you need have no 
more fear for her safety. No one has ever for one 
moment tried to get at her. You yourself were the 
one that precious pair were after, and the bait was 
your life assurance. By killing off the watchers over 
Black Riot one by one, they knew that there would 
come a time, when, being able to get no one else 
to take the risk of guarding the horse and sleeping 
on that bed before the steel-room door, you would 
do it yourself; and when that time came they would 
have had you.” 

“ But how ? By what means ? ” 

*“ By one of the most diabolical imaginable. 
Among the reptiles of Patagonia, Sir Henry, there 
is one, a species of black adder, known in the coun¬ 
try as the Mynga Worm whose bite is more deadly 
than that of the rattler or the copperhead, and as 
rapid in its action as prussic acid itself. It has, too, 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 321 

a great velocity of movement and a peculiar power 
of springing and hurling itself upon its prey. The 
Patagonians are a barbarous people in the main and, 
like all barbarous people, are vengeful, cunning, and 
subtle. A favorite revenge of theirs upon unsus¬ 
pecting enemies is to get within touch of them and 
secretly to smear a mixture of coriander and oil of 
sassafras upon some part of their bodies, and then 
either to lure or drive them into the forest. By a 
peculiar arrangement of Mother Nature this mix¬ 
ture has a fascination, a maddening effect upon the 
Mynga Worm, just as a red rag has on a bull, and, 
enraged by the scent, it finds the spot smeared with 
it and delivers its deadly bite.” 

“Good heaven! How horrible! And you 
mean to tell me-” 

“ That they employed one of those deadly rep¬ 
tiles in this case? Yes, Sir Henry. I suspected it 
the very moment I smelt the odor of the coriander 
and sassafras, but I suspected that an animal or a 
reptile of some kind was at the bottom of the 
mystery at a prior period. That is why I wanted 
the flour. Look! Do you see where I sifted it 
over this spot near the Patagonian plant? And 
do you see those serpentine tracks through the mid¬ 
dle of it? The Mynga Worm is there in that box, 
at the roots of that plant. Now see! ” 

He caught up a horse blanket, spread it on the 
floor, lifted the box and plant, set them down in the 
middle of it and, with a quick gathering up of the 
ends of the blanket, converted it into a bag and tied 
it round with a hitching strap. 



322 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES 

“ Get spades, forks, anything, and dig a hole out¬ 
side in the paddock,” he went on. “ Make a deep 
hole, a yard deep at the least — then get some straw, 
some paraffin, turpentine, anything that will burn 
furiously and quickly, and we will soon finish the 
little beast.” 

The servants flew to obey, and when the hole was 
dug, he carried the bag out and lowered it carefully 
into it, covered it with straw, drenched this with a 
gallon or more of lamp oil, and rapidly applied a 
match to it and sprang back. 

A moment later those who were watching saw a 
small black snake make an ineffectual effort to leap 
out of the blazing mass, fall back into the flames, 
and disappear forever. 

“This method of procedure?” said Cleek, an¬ 
swering the baronet’s query as the latter was pouring 
out what he called “ a nerve settler ” prior to follow¬ 
ing the Rev. Ambrose’s example and going to bed. 
“ Very cunning, and yet very, very simple, Sir Henry. 
Bucarelli made a practice, as I saw this evening, of 
helping the chosen watcher to make his bed on the 
floor in front of the door to the steel room, but dur¬ 
ing the time he was removing the blankets from the 
cupboard his plan was to smear them with the 
coriander and sassafras and so arrange the top 
blanket that when the watcher lay down, the stuff 
touched his neck or throat and made that the point 
of attack for the snake, whose fang makes a small 
round spot not bigger than the end of a knitting 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 323 


needle, which is easily passed over by those not 
used to looking for such a thing. There was such 
a spot on Tolliver’s throat; such another at the 
base of Murple’s skull, and there is a third in poor 
Logan’s left temple. No, no more, please; this is 
quite enough. Success to Black Riot and the Derby! 
The riddle is solved, Sir Henry. 1 Good-night! ” 



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